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PROLOGUE 


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HE PT  AM  EBON 


,  H2> 


MARGARET 


QUEEN  OF  NAVARRE: 


st/M 

7)^7S 

o 


NEW  YORK: 

i 

R.  WORTHINGTON  &  CO.,  IMPORTERS 


.PREFACE. 


Margaret  of  Angouleme,  Duchess  of  Alen^on,  Queen 
of  Navarre,  only  sister  of  Francis  I.,  is  certainly  the  author 
of  the  collection  of  tales  which  bears  her  name,  though  the 
fact  has  been  doubted  by  some  French  writers.  La  Croix 
du  Maine,  for  instance,  says  :  “  I  question  whether  the 
princess  composed  this  book  ;  forasmuch  as  it  is  full  of  bold 
discourses  and  ticklish  expressions.”  But,  against  this  sur¬ 
mise  we  may  set  the  positive  testimony  of  Brantome.  The 
Queen  of  Navarre,  he  says,  “  composed  most  of  these  novels 
in  her  Jitter  as  she  travelled  ;  for  her  hours  of  retirement 
were  employed  in  affairs  of  importance.  I  have  heard  this 
account  from  my  grandmother,  who  always  went  with  her  in 
her  litter,  as  her  lady  of  honour,  and  held  her  standi >>h  for 
her ;  and  she  wrote  them  down  as  quickly  and  readily,  or 
rather  more  so,  than  if  they  had  been  dictated  to  her.” 
Besides,  as  Bayle  remarks,  La  Croix  du  Maine  could  never 
have  entertained  a  doubt  on  the  matter  if  he  had  read  Claude 
Gruget’s  dedication  of  the  second  edition  of  the  work  to 
Joan  d’Albret,  only  daughter  of  Queen  Margaret.  Had  the 
work  been  supposititious,  it  is  incredible  that  Gruget  should 
have  thus  addressed  the  princess  :  “  Such  a  present  will  not 
be  new  to  you  ;  you  will  only  recognise  it  as  your  mother's 
heiress.  However,  I  persuade  myself  that  it  will  be  accept¬ 
able  to  you  to  see  it  by  this  second  impression  restored  to 
its  primitive  state ;  for  (as  I  have  heard)  the  first  displeased 
you  ;  not  but  that  he  who  undertook  it  was  a  learned  man, 
and  had  taken  pains  with  it,  and,  as  is  easy  to  believe,  would 

689368 


VI 


Preface. 

not  have  thus  disguised  it  without  some  reason  for  doing  so ; 
yet  his  labour  proved  disagreeable. ” 

The  history  of  the  Heptameron  is  singular.  It  is  the  best 
known  and  the  most  popular  of  all  the  old  collections  of  tales 
in  the  French  Language.  It  has  been  the  delight  of  the 
unlearned,  scholars  have  warmly  commended  it,  and  men  of 
talent  and  genius  have  borrowed  from  its  pages.  Brantome 
speaks  of  it  with  enthusiasm,  and  quotes  it  repeatedly ; 
Lafontaine,  the  conteur  par  excellence ,  acknowledges  his  obli¬ 
gations  to  it ;  Montaigne  calls  it  nn  ge?itil  livre  pour  son 
etoffe—  “  a  nice  book  for  its  matter;”  and  Bayle  says  it  is, 
“  after  the  manner  of  Boccace’s  novels,”  and  “  has  some 
beauties  in  that  kind  which  are  surprising.”  The  book,  too* 
has  had  its  enemies  as  well  as  its  admirers,  for  it  abounds 
with  reflections  on  religious  topics  which  accord  with  the 
author’s  known  leaning  to  the  cause  of  the  Reformers  ;  and 
through  the  whole  work  the  monks,  especially  the  Cordeliers, 
are  treated  with  much  severity,  and  are  represented  as  com¬ 
mitting,  and  sometimes  with  impunity  even  when  discovered, 
the  most  cruel,  deceitful,  and  immoral  actions.  From  all 
this,  would  it  not  seem  reasonable  to  presume  that  the  world 
had  long  possessed  a  tolerably  correct  text  of  this  celebrated 
book — one  at  least  which  has  not  been  seriously  falsified  both 
by  omissions  and  interpolations?  But  such  is  not  the  fact. 
The  genuine  Heptameron,  after  remaining  in  manuscript  for 
more  than  three  hundred  years  from  the  Queen  of  Navarre’s 
death  was  only  published  a  few  years  ago  by  the  Societe  des 
Bibliophiles  Fran^ais. 

Margaret  died  in  1549.  In  1558,  Pierre  Boaistuau  pub¬ 
lished  the  first  edition  of  her  novels  under  the  title  of 
Ilistoire  des  Amans  Fortunes,  which  he  dedicated  to  Mar¬ 
garet  of  Bourbon,  the  deceased  queen’s  niece.  He  took 
strange  liberties  with  the  original,  inverting  the  order  of  the 
stories,  and  suppressing  several  of  them,  as  well  as  many 
names  of  real  personages,  numerous  passages  that  seemed  to 
him  too  bold,  and  nearly  the  whole  series  of  conversations  by 
which  one  tale  is  followed  and  the  next  introduced.  Now 


vu 


Preface . 

these  conversations  occupy  almost  one-half  of  the  work,  and 
comprise  some  of  its  most  characteristic  matter  :  no  wonder, 
therefore,  that  Joan  d’Albert  was  dissatisfied  with  Boaistuau’s 
editorial  labours.  In  i559>  Claude  Gruget  replaced  the 
novels  in  their  original  order,  restored  most  of  the  suppressed 
prologues  and  epilogues,  and  gave  to  the  whole  the  title  of 
Heptameron,  instead  of  Decameron,  which  Margaret  had 
intended  to  call  it ;  for  she  had  modelled  it  upon  the  De¬ 
cameron  of  Boccaccio,  but  died  before  she  had  completed 
more  than  two  novels  of  the  eighth  day.  So  far  the  second 
editor’s  work  was  a  great  improvement  on  that  of  his  pre¬ 
decessor  ;  but  Gruget  did  not  venture  to  restore  the  proper 
names,  or  the  passages  which  Boaistuau  had  suppressed  as 
objectionable;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  foisted  into  ihe 
work  tales  and  dialogues  of  his  own  composition,  without  a 
word  of  warning  to  the  reader,  and  left  them  to  pass  as  the 
genuine  productions  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

All  this  was  bad  enough  ;  but  worse  followed.  The  Hep¬ 
tameron  having  grown  very  scarce,  the  booksellers  of  Am¬ 
sterdam  reprinted  it  in  1698.  “They  published  two  editions 
of  it,”  says  Bayle:  “one  from  that  of  Claude  Gruget,  the  other 
metamorphosed  into  new  French  :  the  latter  will  please 
foreigners  who  only  understand  the  modern  language,  and 
many  ignorant  and  lazy  Frenchmen,  who  care  not  to  be  at 
the  pains  of  informing  themselves  how  they  spoke  in  the 
reign  of  Francis  I.  The  other  edition  is  the  only  one  which 
will  be  used  by  Frenchmen  of  good  taste  and  judgment.” 
The  majority  of  readers,  however,  not  being  persons  of  that 
description,  the  modernised  edition  quickly  supplanted  the 
antique  one ;  and  for  the  last  hundred  and  fifty  years  the 
Heptameron  has  scarcely  been  known  in  any  other  form 
than  that  given  to  it  by  the  literary  cobbler  by  whom  it  was 
mis  en  beau  language ,  et  accommode  au  gout  de  ce  temps — 

“  put  into  fair  language,  and  accommodated  to  the  taste  of 
the  age.”  It  is  no  exaggeration  of  his  demerits  to  say  that 
he  neither  understood  old  French  rightly,  nor  could  write 
modern  French  passably.  His  “  beau  language  ”  is  mere 


Vlll 


Preface. 

slipslop;  he  mistakes  the  meaning  of  his  original  a  thousand 
times  ;  and,  by  way,  no  doubt,  of  “  accommodating  it  to  the 
taste  of  the  age,”  he  patches  it  with  paltry  scraps  from  the 
common  repertory  of  the  “  fast  school  ”  of  his  day. 

Mai  sur  tnal  n'est  pas  sante ,  says  a  French  proverb.  The 
work  which  survived  all  this  accumulated  ill-usage  must  have 
possessed  no  ordinary  stock  of  vitality.  It  has  at  last  been 
reproduced  in  its  original  form  from  MSS.,  of  which  there 
are  twelve  in  the  Bibliothhque  Nationale  of  Paris,  all  belong¬ 
ing  to  the  second  half  of  the  sixteenth  century.  From  this 
edition  (L’Heptameron  des  Nouvtrlles  de  tres  haute  et  tres 
illustre  Princesse  Marguerite  D’Angouleme,  Reine  de  Na¬ 
varre.  Nouvelle  edition,  publiee  sur  les  manuscrits  par  la 
Soci^t^  des  Bibliophiles  Frangais.  A  Paris,  1853.  3  vols.) 
the  present  translation  has  been  made. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction.  .  . 

FIRST  DA  Y 

Novel  I. 

A  woman  of  Alencon  having  two  lovers,  one  for  her  pleasure  and  the 
other  for  her  profit,  caused  that  one  of  the  two  to  be  slain  who  was 
the  first  to  discover  her  gallantries — She  obtained  her  pardon  and 
that  of  her  husband,  who  had  fled  the  country,  and  who  afterwards, 
in  order  to  save  some  money,  applied  to  a  necromancer — The  mat* 
ter  was  found  out  and  punished  . . 

Novel  II. 

Chaste  and  lamentable  death  of  the  wife  of  one  of  the  Queen  of 
Navarre’s  muleteers  .  .  . 


Novel  III. 

A  king  of  Naples,  having  debauched  the  wife  of  a  gentleman,  at  last 
wears  horns  himself 


Novel  IV. 

Presumptuous  attempt  of  a  gentleman  upon  a  Princess  of  Flanders, 
and  the  shame  it  brought  upon  him  ..•••• 


Novel  V. 

A  boatwoman  escapes  from  two  Cordeliers,  who  wanted  to  force  her, 
and  exposes  them  to  public  derision  ...... 


Novel  VI. 

Stratagem  by  which  a  woman  enabled  her  gallant  to  escape,  when 
her  husband,  who  was  blind  of  an  eye,  thought  to  surprise  them 
together  . 


Novel  VII. 

Trick  put  by  a  mercer  of  Paris  upon  an  old  woman  to  conceal  his 
intrigue  with  her  daughter  ....... 


Paob. 

I 

II 

18 

21 

26 

3* 

34 

37 


X 


Contents . 


Novel  VIII 

A  man  having  lain  with  his  wife,  believing  that  he  was  in  bed  with 
his  servant,  sends  his  friend  to  do  the  same  thing  ;  and  the  friend 
makes  a  cuckold  of  him  without  the  wife  being  aware  of  it  . 

Novel  IX. 

Deplorable  death  of  a  lover  in  consequence  of  his  knowing  too  late 
that  he  was  beloved  by  his  mistress  ...  ... 

Novel  X. 

The  loves  of  Amadour  and  Florida,  wherein  are  seen  several  strata¬ 
gems  and  dissimulations,  and  the  exemplary  chastity  of  Florida  . 


SECOND  DAY. 


Novel  XI. 

An  odorous  adventure  which  befell  Madame  de  Roncex  at  the  Fran¬ 
ciscan  Monastery  of  Thouars . 

Facetious  sayings  of  a  Cordelier  in  his  sermons  •  •  •  • 


Novel  XII. 

Incontinence  and  tyranny  of  a  Duke  of  Florence — Just  punishment 
of  his  wickedness  ......... 


Novel  XIII. 

A  captain  of  a  galley,  under  the  cloak  of  devotion,  fell  in  love  with 
a  demoiselle — What  happened  in  consequence  .  .  :  • 


Novel  XIV. 

Subtlety  of  a  lover,  who,  counterfeiting  the  real  favourite,  found  means 
to  recompense  himself  for  his  past  troubles  ..... 

Novel  XV. 

A  lady  of  the  court,  seeing  herself  neglected  by  her  husband,  whose 
love  was  bestowed  elsewhere,  retaliated  upon  him  ... 

Novel  XVI. 

A  Milanese  lady  tested  her  lover’s  courage,  and  afterwards  loved  him 
heartily  ........... 


Novel  XVII. 

King  Francis  gives  a  signal  proof  of  his  courage  in  the  case  of  Count 
Guillaume,  who  designed  his  death . 


PAGS 

39 

44 

49 

73 

77 

8o 

86 

94 

IOO 

III 

"5 


Contents . 


xi 


Novel  XVIII. 

A.  lady  tests  the  fidelity  of  a  young  student,  her  lover,  before  granting 
him  her  favours 


Novel  XIX. 

Two  lovers,  in  despair  at  being  hindered  from  marrying,  turn  monk 
and  nun  ...  . 


Novel  XX. 

A  gentleman  finds  his  cruel  fair  one  in  the  arms  of  her  groom,  and  is 
cured  at  once  of  his  love . . 


THIRD  DAY 

Novel  XXI. 

Virtuous  love  of  a  young  lady  of  quality  and  a  bastard  of  an  illus¬ 
trious  house — Hinderance  of  their  marriage  by  a  queen — Sage 
reply  of  the  demoiselle  to  the  queen — Her  subsequent  marriage  . 

Novel  XXII. 

A  hypocritical  prior  tries  every  means  to  seduce  a  nun,  but  at  last  his 
villainy  is  discovered  . . 


Novel  XXIII. 

A  Cordelier  who  was  the  cause  of  three  murders,  that  of  husband, 
wife,  and  child  .  . .  •  • 

Novel  XXIV. 

Ingenious  device  of  a  Castilian  in  order  to  make  a  declaration  of  love 
to  a  queen,  and  what  came  of  it . . 

Novel  XXV. 

Cunning  contrivance  of  a  young  prince  to  enjoy  the  wife  of  an  advo¬ 
cate  of  Paris  ..... 


•  • 


•  • 


Novel  XXVI. 

By  the  advice  and  sisterly  affection  of  a  virtuous  lady,  the  lord  of 
Avannes  was  weaned  from  his  dissolute  amours  with  a  lady  of 
Pampeluna . 

Novel  XXVII. 

A  secretary  had  the  impudence  to  solicit  the  favours  of  his  host's  wife, 
and  had  only  the  shame  for  his  pains . 


PAG! 

118 

123 

130 

134 

150 

160 

166 

173 

179 

190 


xii  Contents. 

Novel  XXVIII. 

A  secretary,  thinking  to  dupe  a  certain  person,  was  himself  duped  . 

Novel  XXIX. 

A  villager,  whose  wife  intrigued  with  the  parish  priest,  suffered  him¬ 
self  to  be  easily  deceived 


Novel  XXX. 

Notable  example  of  human  frailty  in  a  lady  who,  to  conceal  an  evil, 
commits  a  still  greater  one 


FOURTH  DA  Y. 

Novel  XXXI. 

A  monastery  of  Cordeliers  was  burned,  and  the  monks  in  it,  in  per¬ 
petual  memory  of  the  cruelty  of  one  of  them  who  was  in  love  with 
a  lady  ».••••••••• 

Novel  XXXII. 

A  husband  surprises  his  wife  in  flagrante  delicto,  and  subjects  her  to 
a  punishment  more  terrible  than  death  itself  .... 

Novel  XXXIII. 

Incest  of  a  priest,  who  got  his  sister  with  child  under  the  cloak  of 
sanctity,  and  how  it  was  punished  ...... 

Novel  XXXIV. 

Two  over-inquisitive  Cordeliers  had  a  great  fright,  which  had  like  to 
cost  them  their  lives  ......... 

Novel  XXXV. 

Contrivance  of  a  sensible  husband  to  cure  his  wife  of  her  passion  for 
a  Cordelier  ......  ..... 


Novel  XXXVI. 

A  President  of  Grenoble,  becoming  aware  of  his  wife's  irregularities, 
took  his  measures  so  wisely  that  he  revenged  himself  without  any 
public  exposure  of  his  dishonour  ....... 

Novel  XXXVII. 

Judicious  proceedings  of  a  wife  to  withdraw  her  husband  from  a  low 
intrigue  with  which  he  was  infatuated  ...... 


PAG* 

192 


195 


197 


205 


209 


213 


216 


220 


226 


231 


Contents. 

Novel  XXXVIII. 

Memorable  charity  of  a  lady  of  Tours  with  regard  to  her  faithless  hus¬ 
band  «•••*•«  ti». 

Novel  XXXIX. 

Secret  for  driving  away  the  hobgoblin  ...... 

Novel  XL. 

The  Count  de  Jossebelin  has  his  brother-in-law  put  to  death,  not 
knowing  the  relationship  .  . 


FIFTH  DAY. 

Novel  XLI. 

Strange  and  novel  penance  imposed  by  a  Cordelier  confessor  on  a 
young  lady. . . 


Novel  XLII. 

Chaste  perseverance  of  a  maiden,  who  resisted  the  obstinate  pursuit 
of  one  of  the  greatest  lords  in  France — Agreeable  issue  of  the  affair 
for  the  demoiselle . . 


Novel  XLIII. 

Hypocrisy  of  a  court  lady  discovered  by  the  denouement  of  her 
amours,  which  she  wished  to  conceal  . . 

Novel  XLIV. 

A  Cordelier  received  a  double  alms  for  telling  the  plain  truth  . 

How  two  lovers  cleverly  consummated  their  amours,  the  issue  of 
which  was  happy . 


Novel  XLV. 

A  husband,  giving  the  Innocents  to  his  servant  girl,  plays  upon  his 
wife’s  simplicity  .......... 

Novel  XLVI. 

A  sanctimonious  Cordelier  attempts  to  debauch  the  wife  of  a  judge, 
and  actually  ravishes  a  young  lady,  whose  mother  had  foolishly 
authorised  him  to  chastise  her  for  lying  too  late  in  bed  . 

A  Cordelier’s  sermons  on  the  subject  of  husbands  beating  their 
wives  .  . . 


xiii 

FAGS 

235 

237 

239 

246 

250 

258 

263 

266 

272 

277 

279 


xiv  Contents . 

Novel  XLVII. 

A  gentlemen  ot  the  Pays  du  Perche,  distrusting  his  friend,  obliges 
him  to  do  him  the  mischief  of  which  he  has  falrely  suspected  him 

Novel  XLVII  I. 

A  Cordelier  took  the  husband’s  place  on  his  wedding-night,  while  the 
latter  was  dancing  with  the  bridal  party  ..... 

Novel  XLIX. 

Of  a  countess  who  diverted  herself  adroitly  with  love  sport,  and  how 
her  game  was  discovered  ........ 


Novel  L. 

A  lover,  after  a  blood-letting,  receives  favours  from  his  mistress,  dies 
in  consequence,  and  is  followed  by  the  fair  one,  who  sinks  under  her 
grief . . 


SIXTH  DAY, 
Novel  LI. 

Perfidy  and  cruelty  of  an  Italian  duke 


Novel  LII. 

A  nasty  breakfast  given  to  an  advocate  and  a  gentleman  by  an 
apothecary’s  man  .  .  ....... 


Novel  LIII. 

Madame  de  Neufchastel,  by  her  dissimulation,  forced  the  Prince  of 
Belhoste  to  put  her  to  such  a  proof  as  turned  to  her  dishonour 

Novel  LIV. 

A  lady  laughed  to  see  her  husband  kissing  her  servant,  and,  being 
asked  the  reason,  replied  that  she  laughed  at  her  shadow  .  . 

Novel  LV. 

Cunning  device  of  a  Spanish  widow  to  defraud  the  Mendicant  Friars 
of  a  testamentary  bequest  made  to  them  by  her  husband  . 

Novel  LVI. 

A  pious  lady  having  asked  a  Cordelier  to  provide  a  good  husband  for 
her  daughter,  he  marries  another  Cordelier  to  the  young  lady,  and 
possesses  himself  of  her  dowry — The  cheat  is  discovered  and 
punished  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  *  .  .  . 


pag* 

282 


286 


288 


293 


297 


301 


3°4 


309 


312 


3*4 


Contents. 

Novel  LVII. 

Of  a  ridiculous  milord  who  wore  a  lady’s  glove  on  his  dress-coat  , 

Novel  LVIII 

How  a  lady  of  the  court  pleasantly  revenged  herself  on  her  faithless 


lover  . 


Novel  LIX. 

The  same  lady,  whose  husband  was  jealous  of  her  without  just  cause, 
contrives  to  detect  him  in  such  a  position  with  one  of  her  women 
that  he  is  obliged  to  humble  himself,  and  allow  his  wife  to  live  as 
she  pleases  ........... 

Novel  LX. 

A  woman  of  Paris  quits  her  husband  for  one  of  the  king’s  chanters, 
counterfeits  death,  and  is  buried,  but  secretly  disinterred  alive  and 
well — Her  husband  marries  another  wife,  and  fifteen  years  after- 
wards  is  obliged  to  repudiate  her,  and  take  back  his  first  wife  • 


SEVENTH  DAY. 

Novel  LXI.  • 

A  husband  became  reconciled  to  his  wife  after  she  had  lived  fourteen 
or  fifteen  years  with  a  canon . , 

Novel  LXII. 

A  lady  recounting  an  adventure  of  gallantry  that  had  occurred  to  her¬ 
self,  and  speaking  in  the  third  person,  inadvertently  betrayed  her 
own  secret . 

Novel  LXIII. 

Notable  chastity  of  a  French  lord  .  .  •  •  •  •  • 

Novel  LXIV. 

A  gentleman,  having  been  unable  to  marry  a  person  he  loves,  be¬ 
comes  a  Cordelier  in  despite — Sore  distress  of  his  mistress  thereat 

Novel  LXV. 

Simplicity  of  an  old  woman,  who  presented  a  lighted  candle  to  Saint 
Jean  de  Lyon,  and  wanted  to  fasten  it  on  the  forehead  of  a  soldier 
who  was  sleeping  on  a  tomb — What  happened  in  consequence  . 

Novel  LXVI. 

Amusing  adventure  of  Monsieur  de  Vendome  and  the  Princess  of 
Navarre. . .  ,  •  •  « 


XV 

PACK 

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349 

350 


XVI 


Contents. 


Novel  LXVII. 

Lo ve  and  extreme  hardships  of  a  woman  in  a  foreign  land  • 

Novel  LXVIII. 

A  woman  gives  her  husband  powder  of  cantharides  to  make  him  love 
her,  and  goes  near  to  killing  him  ...  ... 

Novel  LX  IX.  . 

An  Italian  suffered  himself  to  be  duped  by  his  servant  maid,  and 
was  caught  by  his  wife  boking  meal  in  place  of  the  girl 

Novel  LXX. 

The  horrible  incontinence  and  malice  of  a  Duchess  of  Burgundy  was 
the  cause  of  her  death,  and  of  that  of  two  persons  who  fondly  loved 
each  other . .  , 


EIGHTH  DAY. 

Novei  LXXI. 

A  woman  at  the  point  of  death  flew  into  such  a  violent  passion  at 
seeing  her  husband  kiss  her  servant  that  she  recovered  ... 

Novel  LXXII. 

Continual  repentance  of  a  nun  who  had  lost  her  virginity  without 
violence  and  without  love  ........ 


PAGE 

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356 

358 

360 

379 

481 


MEMOIR  OF 


LOUISE  OF  SAVOY,  DUCHESS  OF  ANGOULfeME, 

AND  OF  HER  DAUGHTER, 

MARGARET,  QUEEN  OF  NAVARRE. 


Two  children  were  born  of  the  marriage  of  Charles  of  Orleans, 
Count  of  Angouleme,  a  prince  of  the  blood  royal  of  France,  and 
Louise,  the  daughter  of  Philip  Duke  of  Savoy,  and  Margaret  of 
Bourbon.  The  eider  of  the  two  was  Margaret,  the  principal 
subject  of  this  memoir,  born  on  the  nth  of  April,  1492  ;  the 
younger,  born  on  the  12th  of  September,  1494,  was  the  prince  who 
succeeded  Louis  XII.  on  the  throne  of  France,  February,  1515, 
under  the  name  of  Francis  I. 

Married  when  she  was  little  more  than  eleven  years  old,  Louise 
of  Savoy  was  left  a  widow  before  she  had  completed  her  eighteenth 
year,  and  thenceforth  devoted  herself  with  exemplary  assiduity  to 
the  care  of  her  children,  who  repaid  her  solicitude  by  the  warm 
affection  they  always  felt  for  their  mother  and  for  each  other.  She 
was  a  woman  of  remarkable  beauty  and  capacity,  and  her  charac¬ 
ter  and  conduct  were  deserving,  in  many  respects,  of  the  eulogies 
which  her  daughter  never  wearied  of  lavishing  upon  them  ;  but 
less  partial  writers  have  convicted  her  of  criminal  acts  which 
brought  disasters  upon  her  son  and  her  country.  In  the  first  year 
of  his  reign,  Francis  I.  committed  the  regency  of  the  kingdom  to 
his  mother,  and  set  out  on  his  expedition  to  Italy.  He  was  absent 
but  a  few  months  ;  nevertheless,  this  first  regency  enabled  Louise 
of  Savoy  to  fill  the  most  important  offices  with  men  entirely 
devoted  to  her  interests,  and  even  to  her  caprices,  and  to  gratify 
by  any  and  every  means  the  insatiable  thirst  for  money  with  which 
she  was  cursed. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1522,  Lautrec,  one  of  the  king’s 
favourites,  who  commanded  his  forces  in  Italy,  lost  in  a  few  days 

b 


xviii  Memoir  of  Margaret , 

all  the  advantages  which  Francis  had  gained  by  the  victory  of 
Marignano.  He  returned  to  Paris  with  only  two  attendants,  and 
sought  an  audience  of  the  king,  who  refused  at  first  to  receive  him. 
Finally,  at  the  intercession  of  the  Constable  of  Bourbon,  Francis 
allowed  Lautrec  to  appear  before  him,  and,  after  loading  him  with 
reproaches,  demanded  what  excuse  he  could  offer  for  himself. 
Lautrec  calmly  replied,  “  The  troops  I  commanded,  not  having 
been  paid,  refused  to  follow  Vne,  and  I  was  left  alone.” — “  What  !  ” 
said  the  king,  “  I  sent  you  four  hundred  thousand  crowns  to 
Genoa,  and  Semblangay,  the  superintendent  of  finance,  forwarded 
you  three  hundred  thousand.” — “  Sire,  I  have  received  nothing.” — 
Semblan^ay  being  summoned  to  the  presence,  “  Father,”  said  the 
king  (who  addressed  him  in  that  way  on  account  of  his  great  age), 
“  come  hither  and  tell  us  if  you  have  not,  in  pursuance  of  my 
order,  sent  M.  de  Lautrec  the  sum  of  three  hundred  thousand 
crowns  ?  ” — “  Sire,”  replied  the  superintendent,  “  I  am  prepared  to 
prove  that  I  delivered  that  sum  to  the  duchess  your  mother,  that 
she  might  employ  it  as  you  say.” — “  Very  well,”  said  the  king,  and 
went  into  his  mother’s  room  to  question  her.  Louise  of  Savoy 
threw  the  whole  blame  on  Semblangay,  who  was  immediately 
confronted  with  her.  He  persisted  in  his  first  statement, 
and  the  duchess  was  forced  to  confess  that  she  had  received  the 
greater  part  of  the  sum  in  question,  but  she  alleged  that  the  money 
was  due  to  her  by  the  superintendent,  and  she  did  not  see  why  her 
private  income  should  be  applied  to  the  Italian  expedition.  Francis 
most  bitterly  upbraided  his  mother  for  thus  embezzling  the  money 
of  the  state,  but  his  wrath  fell  more  heavily  on  the  minister,  whom 
he  found  to  have  been  guilty  of  culpable  complaisance  towards 
her.  The  unfortunate  Semblangay  was  arrested,  commissioners 
were  appointed  to  examine  his  accounts,  and,  being  condemned  by 
their  report,  he  was  hung  on  the  gibbet  at  Monfaucon,  on  the  9th 
of  August,  1527. 

Louise  of  Savoy  was  deeply  implicated  in  a  still  fouler  transac¬ 
tion,  which  was  attended  with  the  most  terrible  consequences. 
This  was  the  iniquitous  lawsuit  brought  against  the  Constable  ol 
Bourbon,  which  was  followed .  by.  his  desertion  and  treason. 
According  to  all  historians,  the  insensate  love  of  the  Duchess  of 
Angouleme,  then  aged  fourty-four,  for  the  constable,  who  was  but 
thirty-two,  was  the  sole  cause  of  this  suit  ;  but  her  cupidity,  and 
the  secret  jealousy  with  which  Francis  I.  regarded  one  of  the  hand¬ 
somest,  wealthiest,  and  bravest  men  in  his  kingdom,  also  contri¬ 
buted  to  that  result.  The  object  of  the  suit  was  to  wrest  from  the 


xix 


Queen  of  Navarre. 

constable  the  lordships  bequeathed  to  him  by  Suzanne  be  Beaujeu, 
one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  Europe,  and  to  which  Louise  of 
Savoy  laid  claim  as  next  of  kin  to  the  deceased.  She  did  so  at  the 
instigation  of  the  Chancellor  Duprat,  whose  reasonings  on  this 
subject  we  are  enabled  to  give  in  his  own  words,  as  follows  : — 

“  The  marriage  of  M.  Charles  de  Bourbon  with  Madame 
Suzanne  was  nothing  else  than  a  mere  shift  to  stop  the  action  at 
law  which  the  said  lord  was  ready  to  move  against  Madame  de 
Bourbon  and  her  daughter,  on  account  of  the  estates  of  appanage 
and  others  entailed  on  the  marriage  of  Jean  de  Bourbon  and  Maria 
of  Berry.  The  mere  apprehension  of  this  contest  made  the  said 
Madame  de  Bourbon  condescend  thereto,  and  to  that  end  shf 
dissolved  the  contract  passed  between  M.  d’Alen^on  and  Madame 
Suzanne.  Hence  there  is  a  likelihood  that  a  similar  apprehension 
of  a  suit  to  be  promoted  for  the  whole  inheritance  of  the  house  by 
two  stronger  parties  than  was  then  the  said  Lord  of  Bourbon,  who 
was  neither  old  enough  nor  strong  enough  to  prosecute  it,  as  the 
king  and  his  mother  will  be,  may  cause  some  overtures  to  be  made 
on  the  one  side  or  the  other  to  compromise  and  allay  this 
difference. 

“  M.  de  Bourbon  is  now  but  thirty-two,  and  Madame,  the  king’s 
mother,  cannot  be  more  than  forty  at  most,  which  is  not  too  ais- 
proportioned  an  age  for  so  great  a  lady,  handsome,  rich,  and  so 
highly  qualified.  Should  the  said  Lord  of  Bourbon  agree  to  this 
marriage,  why  there  she  is  at  the  point  she  desires,  Duchess  of 
Bourbonnais  and  Auvergne,  and  lady  of  that  great  heritage.  If, 
on  the  contrary,  he  refuses,  it  will  be  necessary  to  bring  this 
action,  prosecute  it  vigorously,  employ  in  it  the  authority  of  the 
king  and  my  lady  his  mother,  and  spare  nought  to  further  it.  This 
will  make  him  bethink  himself,  however  intractable  he  may  be,  and 
he  will  be  very  glad  to  return  into  favour  by  this  means.  If  not, 
as  he  is  a  courageous  prince,  when  he  finds  himself  threatened 
with  the  loss  of  all  his  possessions,  titles,  and  dignities,  he  will  do 
something  extraordinary,  and  will  choose  rather  to  abandon  his 
country  (as  M.  du  Bellay  says)  than  to  live  in  it  in  a  necessitous 
condition.  He  will  withdraw  out  of  the  realm,  and  by  so  doing  he 
will  confiscate  all.  So  that  he  cannot  fail  to  do  what  is  desired,  be 
it  how  it  may.”* 

The  Constable  of  Bourbon  having  rejected,  and  even  it  is  said 
with  disdain,  the  offer  of  marriage  made  to  him,  the  s»:»r 

*  Histoire  de  Bourbon ,  p.  226  r°.  Des  desseins  des  profess  o>ts  nobles  tk 
ubUgues,  &c.  &c.  Far  Ant.  de  Laval.  Paris,  1605. 


XX 


Memoir  of  M argot  et, 

brought  before  the  parliament,  and  was  decided  in  favour  of  the 
Duchess  of  Angouleme.  But  the  pleasure  brought  her  by  this 
triumph  over  her  haughty  adversary  was  not  of  long  duration.  A 
few  months  after  he  was  despoiled  of  all  his  estates,  Charles  of 
Bourbon  quitted  France,  and  entered  the  service  of  Charles  V. 
In  the  following  year,  1524,  he  drove  the  French  out  of  Italy,  and 
on  the  24th  of  February,  1525,  he  defeated  them  in  the  famous 
battle  of  Pavia,  in  which  Francis  I.  was  taken  prisoner,  after 
receiving  five  wounds.  The  Duchess  of  Angouleme,  as  Regent  of 
France,  displayed  great  courage  and  ability  under  this  heavy 
calamity.  She  soon  received  from  her  captive  son  the  letter  con¬ 
taining  that  memorable  phrase — “  De  ioutes  choses  ne  invest 
demeuri  que  Vhonneur ,  et  la  vie  qui  est  sauve  ” — “  I  have  lost  all 
but  honour  and  life.'”  This  letter  was  a  great  joy  to  her.  Margaret 
wrote  respecting  it  to  her  brother,  “  Your  letter  has  had  such  an 
effect  of  Madame,  and  of  all  those  who  love  you,  that  it  has  been 
to  us  a  Holy  Ghost  after  the  sorrow  of  the  passion.  .  .  .  Madame 
has  felt  her  strength  so  greatly  redoubled,  that  all  day  and  evening 
not  a  minute  is  lost  for  your  affairs,  so  that  you  need  not  have  any 
pain  or  care  about  your  realm  and  your  children.” 

After  taking  all  necessary  measures  for  the  internal  defence  of 
the  kingdom,  the  regent  and  her  daughter  took  up  their  residence 
at  Lyon,  for  the  purpose  of  the  more  readily  receiving  news  from 
Italy.  There  they  learned  that  Charles  V.  had  removed  his 
prisoner  to  Madrid,  and  that  he  was  becoming  more  and  more 
exacting  in  the  conditions  for  his  release.  Francis  I.  wrote  to  his 
mother  that  he  was  very  ill,  and  begged  her  to  come  to  him  ;  but 
in  spite  of  her  love  for  her  son,  she  felt  that  she  could  not  comply 
with  his  request,  for  it  would  have  been  risking  the  fate  of  the 
monarchy  to  put  the  regent  along  with  the  King  of  France  into  the 
Emperor’s  hands.  Sacrificing,  therefore,  her  feelings  as  a  mother 
to  the  requirements  of  the  state,  she  sent  her  daughter  Margaret 
instead  of  herself  to  Madrid. 

After  she  had  done  her  part  to  the  utmost  for  her  son’s  release, 
and  in  the  negotiations  for  the  treaty  of  peace  which  was  concluded 
at  Cambria  on  the  5th  of  August,  1529,  the  Duchess  of  Angouleme 
took  no  further  share  in  the  government  of  the  realm.  She  had 
repaired,  as  far  as  it  was  possible  for  her,  the  misfortunes  earned 
by  her  conduct  with  regard  to  the  constable.  Her  labours  as 
regent,  during  her  son’s  captivity,  had  completely  ruined  her  health, 
which  had  begun  to  fail  before  that  event.  In  September,  1531, 
she  was  at  Fontainebleau  with  her  daughter  and  all  the  other  ladies 


Queen  of  Navarre  xxi 

uf  her  court ;  the  plague  was  raging  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
Louise,  who  had  a  great  dread  of  death,  was  incessantly  occupied 
with  medicine  and  new  receipts  against  disorders  of  all  kinds.  Her 
spirits  were  very  low,  and  her  countenance  so  changed  as  scarcely 
to  be  recognised  by  her  daughter.  “  If  you  would  like  to  know  her 
pastime,”  Margaret  writes  to  her  brother,  “it  is  that,  after  dinner, 
when  she  has  given  audience,  instead  of  doing  her  customary  works, 
she  sends  for  all  those  who  have  any  malady,  whether  in  the  legs, 
arms  or  breasts,  and  with  her  own  hand  she  dresses  them  by  way 
of  trying  an  ointment  she  has,  which  is  very  singular.”  This  horror 
at  the  thought  of  death  was  common  to  both  mother  and  daughter. 
Brantome  says  of  the  former,  “  She  was  in  her  time,  as  I  have 
heard  many  say  who  have  seen  and  known  her,  a  very  fine  lady, 
but  very  worldly  withal,  and  was  the  same  in  her  declining  age, 
and  hated  to  hear  discourse  of  death,  even  from  preachers  in  their 
sermons  :  as  if,  said  she,  we  did  not  know  well  enough  that  we  must 
all  die  some  time  or  other  ;  and  these  preachers,  when  they  have 
nothing  else  to  say  in  their  sermons,  like  ignorant  persons,  fall  to 
talking  of  death.  The  late  Queen  of  Navarre,  her  daughter,  liked 
no  more  than  her  mother  these  repetitions  and  preachings  concern¬ 
ing  death.”* 

A  few  days  after  the  date  of  the  letter  quoted  in  the  last  para¬ 
graph,  Louise  of  Savoy  quitted  Fontainebleau  for  change  of  air, 
but  was  obliged  to  stop  at  Gr£s,  a  little  village  of  the  Gatinais, 
where  she  died  on  the  22nd  of  September,  1531.  We  now  turn  to 
her  daughter’s  history. 

Charles  of  Austria,  Count  of  Flanders,  afterwards  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.,  was  residing  at  the  court  of  Louis  XII.  when  Margaret 
of  Angouleme  appeared  there  accompanying  her  brother  on  his  en¬ 
trance  into  public  life.  The  Count  of  Flanders  was  much  struck  by 
her  appearance  and  her  accomplishments,  and  eagerly  sought  her 
in  marriage.  But  Louis  XII.  refused  to  bestow  upon  him  the  sister 
of  the  heir  presumptive  of  the  throne  of  France,  and  chose  rather 
to  marry  her  in  the  following  year,  December,  1509,  to  Charles, 
Duke  of  Alengon,  a  prince  of  the  royal  family. 

Historians  have  treated  the  memory  of  Margaret’s  first  husband 
with  excessive  severity.  He  had  the  misfortune  to  escape  un¬ 
wounded  from  the  fatal  battle  of  Pavia,  while  endeavouring  to  save 
the  remains  of  the  routed  army  ;  and  it  has  been  alleged  that  on 
his  arrival  at  Lyon,  where  he  found  his  wife  and  mother-in-law,  he 

*  Dames  Galantes. 


zxii  Memoir  of  Margaret , 

was  received  by  them  both  with  the  most  contumelious  reproaches, 
and  that,  unable  to  endure  his  shame  and  remorse,  he  died  a  few 
days  after.  That  is  not  true.  The  battle  of  Pavia  was  fought  on 
the  24th  of  February,  1525,  and  the  Duke  of  Alengon  did  not  die 
until  the  nth  of  April,  that  is  to  say,  more  than  a  month  after  his 
arrival  in  Lyon.  It  appears  from  the  testimony  of  an  eye-witness, 
brought  to  light  by  the  last  editors  of  the  Heptameron,  that  he  was 
carried  off  by  a  pleurisy  in  five  days,  that  he  was  comforted  on  his 
death-bed  by  his  wife  and  her  mother,  that  he  spoke  with  profound 
regret  of  the  king’s  misfortune,  but  that  nothing  escaped  his  own 
lips  or  those  of  the  two  ladies  to  indicate  the  faintest  idea  on  either 
side  that  he  had  not  done  his  duty  at  Pavia. 

The  first  five  years  of  Margaret’s  wedded  life  were  passed  in 
privacy  in  her  duchy  of  Alengon,  but  from  the  date  of  her  brother’s 
accession  to  the  throne,  in  January,  1515,  her  talents  were  employed 
with  advantage  in  affairs  of  state.  “  Such  was  her  discourse,”  says 
Brantome,  “  that  the  ambassadors  who  addressed  her  were  ex¬ 
tremely  taken  with  it,  and  gave  a  high  character  of  it  to  their 
countrymen  on  their  return,  and  by  this  she  became  a  good  assist¬ 
ant  to  the  king  her  brother  :  for  they  always  waited  on  her  after 
their  principle  audience,  and  frequently,  when  he  had  affairs  of  im¬ 
portance,  he  referred  them  entirely  to  her  determination,  she  so  well 
knowing  how  to  engage  and  entertain  them  with  her  fine  speeches, 
and  being  very  artful  and  dexterous  in  pumping  out  their  secrets: 
these  qualifications  the  king  would  often  say  made  her  of  great  use 
to  him  in  facilitating  his  affairs.  So  that  I  have  heard  there  was 
an  emulation  between  the  two  sisters  who  should  serve  her  brother 
best  ;  the  one — the  Queen  of  Hungary — her  brother  the  emperor, 
the  other,  her  brother  King  Francis  ;  but  the  former  by  war  and 
force,  the  latter  by  the  activity  of  her  fine  wit  and  complaisance. 

.  .  .  During  the  imprisonment  of  the  king  her  brother,  she 

was  of  great  assistance  to  the  regent  her  mother  in  governing  the 
kingdom,  keeping  the  princes  and  grandees  quiet,  and  gaining  upon 
the  nobility;  for  she  was  of  very  easy  access,  and  won  the  hearts  of 
all  people  by  the  fine  accomplishments  she  was  mistress  of.”* 

The  death  of  her  husband,  without  children,  six  weeks  after  the 
battle  of  Pavia,  left  Margaret  free  to  act  as  became  her  intense 
affection  for  her  mother  and  her  brother,  who  both  had  the  most 
urgent  need  of  her  help.  With  the  emperor’s  permission  she  em- 
oarked  at  Aigues  Mortes  for  Spain,  in  spite  of  contrary  winds,  on 


*  Brantome,  Dames  Illustres 


xxm 


Queen  of  Navarre. 

the  27th  of  August,  1525  ;  hastened  to  Madrid,  “and  found  her 
brother  in  so  wretched  a  condition  that  had  she  not  come  he  had 
died  ;  because  she  understood  his  temper  and  constitution  better 
than  all  his  physicians  could  do,  and  caused  him  to  be  treated  ac¬ 
cordingly,  which  entirely  recovered  him  :  so  that  the  king  would 
often  say  that  without  her  he  must  have  died  ;  and  that  he  was  so 
much  obliged  to  her  for  it  that  he  should  for  ever  acknowledge  it, 
and  love  her  (as  he  did)  to  his  dying  day.”* 

The  task  which  Margaret  had  to  accomplish  at  Madrid  was  one 
of  great  difficulty.  In  spite  of  the  apparent  cordiality  with  whirl* 
she  was  universally  treated  at  the  imperial  court,  and  the  very 
favourable  disposition  Charles  V.  always  evinced  in  words,  she 
soon  perceived  the  hollowness  of  his  friendly  protestations.  “Every¬ 
one  tells  me  that  he  likes  the  king,”  she  says  in  one  of  her  letters, 
tf  but  the  experience  thereof  is  small.  If  I  had  to  do  with  good 
men,  who  understood  what  honour  is,  I  should  not  care  ;  but  it  is 
the  reverse.”  Fortunately  she  was  not  one  to  give  way  before  the 
first  difficulties.  She  tried  in  the  beginning  to  win  over  some  great 
personages  in  the  imperial  court,  but  afterwards  perceiving  that  the 
men  always  avoided  talking  with  her  upon  any  serious  topic,  she 
took  care  to  address  herself  to  their  mothers,  wives,  or  daughters. 
In  a  letter  to  Marshal  de  Montmorency  she  says  of  the  Duke  de 
Infantado,  who  had  invited  her  to  his  castle  of  Guadalaxara,  “  You 
will  tell  the  king  that  the  duke  has  been  warned  from  the  court,, 
that  as  he  desires  to  please  the  emperor,  neither  he  nor  his  son  is 
to  speak  to  me  ;  but  the  ladies  are  not  forbidden  me,  and  I  shall 
speak  to  them  doubly.” 

As  for  Margaret’s  behaviour  towards  Charles  V.,  let  us  again  have 
recourse  to  Brantome,  whom  we  shall  quote  as  often  as  we  can  : 
“  She  spoke  so  bravely  and  so  handsomely  to  the  emperor  con¬ 
cerning  his  bad  treatment  of  the  king  her  brother  that  he  was  quite 
astonished,  setting  before  him  his  ingratitude  and  felony  wherewith 
he,  the  vassal,  dealt  towards  his  lord  on  account  of  Flanders;  then 
she  reproached  him  with  the  hardness  of  his  heart  for  being  so  de¬ 
void  of  pity  with  regard  to  so  great  and  so  good  a  king  ;  and  said 
that  acting  in  that  manner  was  not  the  way  to  win  a  heart  so  noble 
and  royal  and  so  sovereign  as  that  of  the  king  her  brother  ;  and 
that,  should  he  die  in  consequence  of  his  rigorous  treatment,  his 
death  would  not  remain  unpunished,  for  he  had  childien  who  would 
be  grown  up  some  day,  and  would  take  signal  vengeance.  These 
words,  pronounced  so  bravely,  and  with  so  much  passion,  made  the 

*  Brantome;,  Dames  Illustres. 


*xnr 


Memoir  of  Margaret , 

emperor  bethink  himself,  so  that  he  moderated  his  behaviour,  and 
visited  the  king,  and  promised  him  many  fine  things,  which  he  did 
not,  however,  perform  for  that  time.  But  if  this  queen  spoke  so 
well  to  the  emperor,  she  did  still  more  so  to  those  of  his  council, 
where  she  had  audience,  and  where  she  triumphed  with  her  fine 
speaking  and  graceful  manner,  of  which  she  had  no  lack.” 

Margaret  took  great  pains  to  hasten  the  conclusion  of  the  mar¬ 
riage  between  Francis  I.  and  Eleonore  of  Austria,  widow  of  the 
King  of  Portugal,  rightly  regarding  the  alliance  as  the  surest  means 
of  a  prompt  deliverance.  Though  the  royal  widow  had  been  pro¬ 
mised  to  the  Constable  of  Bourbon,  the  emperor  did  not  hesitate  to 
sacrifice  his  engagement  with  the  illustrious  deserter  to  the  inte¬ 
rests  of  his  policy.  He  himself,  fascinated  by  Margaret’s  talent  and 
graces,  entertained  for  a  moment  the  idea  of  a  union  with  her,  and 
sent  a  letter  to  the  regent  containing  a  distinct  proposal  to  that 
effect.  In  the  same  letter  the  emperor  said,  with  reference  to  the 
Constable  of  Bourbon,  that  “  there  were  good  marriages  in  France, 
and  quite  enough  for  him  ;  naming  Madame  Renee,  with  whom  he 
might  content  himself.”  These  words  have  been  understood  to 
imply  that  there  had  been  some  question  of  a  marriage  between  the 
Duchess  of  Alengon  and  the  constable,  but  there  is  no  evidence  to 
warrant  such  a  conjecture.  There  is  no  mention  of  anything  of  the 
sort  in  any  of  the  diplomatic  pieces  exchanged  between  France 
and  Spain  on  the  subject  of  the  king’s  liberation.  They  stipulate 
that  the  constable  shall  be  restored  to  all  his  possessions,  and  even 
that  a  wife  shall  be  procured  for  him  in  France  ;  but  Margaret’s 
name  nowhere  appears  in  them,  nor  does  she  herself  ever  speak  of 
the  constable  in  any  of  her  numerous  letters.  The  story  of  an  amour 
between  those  two  persons,  which  is  told  by  Varillas  in  his  Histoire 
de  Francois  I.,  and  which  forms  the  main  subject  of  a  fictitious 
Histoire  de  Marguerite,  published  in  1696,  is  totally  without  foun¬ 
dation. 

After  three  months  and  a  half  of  negotiations,  Margaret  and  her 
brother  saw  the  necessity  of  providing  for  the  safety  of  the  crown 
and  government  of  France  in  case  the  king’s  captivity  should 
be  perpetual  ;  and  Francis  signed  an  edict,  in  1525,  by  which  he 
ordained  that  the  young  dauphin  should  be  immediately  crowned  ; 
that  the  regency  should  remain  in  his  mother’s  hands,  but  that  in 
case  of  her  being  disabled  by  sickness  or  other  impediment,  or  b> 
death,  from  exercising  it,  then  it  should  devolve  upon  his  “  most  dear 
and  most  beloved  and  only  sister,  Margaret  of  France,  Duchess  of 
Alengon  and  Berry.” 


XXX 


Queen  of  Navarre. 

It  has  been  erroneously  asserted  that  Margaret  carried  with  her 
this  act  of  abdication  when  she  quitted  Spain,  and  that  because  the 
emperor  was  aware  of  this  fact  he  gave  orders  that  she  should  be 
arrested  the  very  moment  her  safe-conduct  expired.  It  was  Marshal 
de  Montmorency  who  carried  the  act  of  abdication  to  France,  and, 
in  designing  to  seize  the  person  of  the  princess,  Charles  V.  had  no 
other  object  in  view  than  to  secure  to  himself  a  fresh  hostage  in  case 
the  treaty  should  not  be  executed.  At  her  brother’s  instance, 
Margaret  applied  to  the  imperial  court  for  permission  to  quit  Spain. 
It  was  granted  her,  but  in  such  a  manner  as  plainly  showed  her 
there  was  more  wish  to  retard  her  journey  than  to  speed  her  upon 
it.  She  left  Madrid  in  the  beginning  of  December,  and  travelled  at 
first  by  easy  stages,  until  word  was  sent  her  by  her  brother  that  she 
should  hasten  ;  for  the  emperor,  hoping  that  on  the  25th  of  the 
month — on  which  day  her  safe-conduct  was  to  expire — she  would 
be  still  in  Spain,  had  given  orders  for  her  arrest.  Thereupon  she 
quitted  her  litter,  got  on  horseback,  and,  making  as  much  way  in  one 
day  as  she  had  previously  done  in  four,  she  arrived  at  Salses,  where 
some  French  lords  awaited  her,  one  hour  before  the  expiry  of  the 
safe-conduct. 

In  return  for  all  Margaret’s  pains  to  hasten  his  deliverance, 
Francis  I.  could  not  do  less  than  procure  for  her  a  fit  husband. 
Negotiations  were  opened  on  the  subject  with  Henry  VIII. 
of  England,  but  happily  they  came  to  nothing.  There  was  at  the 
court  of  France  a  young  king — one,  indeed,  who  was  without  a  king¬ 
dom,  but  not  without  eminent  advantages,  both  of  mind  and  person. 
This  was  Henri  d’Albret,  Count  of  Bdarn,  legitimate  sovereign  of 
Navarre,  which  was  withheld  from  him  by  Charles  V.,  contrary  to 
treaty.  Henri  had  been  taken  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Pavia,  and 
had  made  his  escape  after  a  captivity  of  about  two  months,  by 
letting  himself  down  from  the  window  by  means  of  a  rope.  Having 
lived  some  time  at  the  court  of  France,  he  was  well  known  to  Mar¬ 
garet,  and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  marriage  was  one 
of  inclination — on  her  side,  at  least.  It  was  celebrated,  therefore, 
notwithstanding  a  considerable  disparity  of  age,  at  Saint  Germain 
en  Laye,  in  January,  1527. 

Henri  d’Albret  received  as  his  wife’s  portion  the  duchies  of 
Alengon  and  Berry,  and  the  counties  of  Armagnac  and  Perche 
which  Francis  entailed  on  his  sister’s  issue,  whether  male  or  female- 
He  also  pledged  himself  in  the  marriage  contract  to  force  the 
emperor  immediately  to  restore  Navarre  to  his  brother-in-law. 
Margaret  repeatedly  urged  him  to  fulfil  this  promise,  and  she  speaks 


xx vi  Memoir  of  Margaret , 

of  it  in  many  of  her  letters  ;  but  political  exigencies  always  prevailed 
against  her  ;  and  there  was  even  a  clause  inserted  in  a  protocol 
relative  to  the  deliverance  of  the  children  of  France,  which  ran 
thus  :  “  Item,  the  same  king  promises  not  to  assist  or  favour  the 
King  of  Navarre  to  reconquer  his  kingdom,  albeit  he  has  married 
his  most  beloved  and  only  sister.” 

The  indifference  of  Francis  l.  with  regard  to  the  political  fortunes 
of  his  brother-in-law,  notwithstanding  the  numerous  and  signal  ser¬ 
vices  the  latter  had  rendered  him,  disgusted  the  young  prince,  and 
he  resolved  to  quit  the  court,  where  Montmorency,  Brion,  and 
several  other  persons,  his  declared  enemies,  were  in  the  ascendant. 
He  put  his  design  into  execution  in  1529,  after  the  conclusion  oi 
the  treaty  of  Cambrai,  and  Margaret  retired  with  him  to  Bearn, 
where  she  diligently  applied  herself,  in  conjunction  with  her  hus¬ 
band,  to  all  measures  capable  of  raising  their  dominions  to  a  more 
flourishing  condition,  as  we  learn  from  Hilarion  dela  Coste.  “  This 
country,”  he  says,  “naturally  good  and  fruitful,  but  lying  in  a  bad 
state,  uncultivated  and  barren,  through  the  negligence  of  its  in¬ 
habitants,  quickly  changed  its  face  by  their  management.  They  in¬ 
vited  husbandmen  out  of  all  the  provinces  of  France,  who  occupied, 
improved,  and  fertilised  the  lands  ;  they  caused  the  towns  to  be 
adorned  and  fortified,  houses  and  castles  to  be  built  ;  that  of  Pau 
among  others,  with  the  finest  gardens  which  were  then  in  Europe. 
After  having  fitted  up  a  handsome  place  of  residence,  they  gave 
orders  about  laws  and  good  government  ;  they  established,  for  the 
differences  of  their  subjects,  a  court  to  determine  them  without 
appeal  ;  and  they  reformed  the  common  law  of  Oleron,  which  was 
used  in  that  country,  and  which,  since  its  last  reformation  in  1288, 
had  been  greatly  corrupted.  By  their  conversation  and  court  they 
greatly  civilised  the  people  ;  and,  to  guard  themselves  against  a 
new  usurpation  from  Spain,  they  covered  themselves  with  Navar- 
rins — a  town  upon  one  of  the  Gaves,  which  they  fortified  with  strong 
ramparts,  bastions,  and  half- moons,  according  to  the  art  then  in 
use.”  “  This,”  says  Bayle,  “  is  one  of  the  finest  encomiums  that 
could  be  bestowed  on  the  Queen  of  Navarre.” 

After  the  death  of  her  first  husband,  Margaret  retained  full  pos¬ 
session  of  the  Duchy  of  AltnQon,  not  only  as  regarded  its  revenues, 
but  also  its  civil  and  political  administration.  She  always  watched 
over  that  principality  with  great  solicitude.  As  she  never  could 
reside  in  it  except  for  very  brief  intervals,  she  was  carelui  to  com¬ 
mit  its  government  to  able  men,  whose  conduct  fully  justified  her 
choice . 


xxvii 


Queen  of  Navarre. 

It  was  chiefly  during  her  frequent  and  long  residerces  in  her 
principality  of  Bearn  that  the  Queen  of  Navarre  had  opportunities 
of  conferring  with  the  advocates  of  the  Reformation,  and  there 
many  of  them,  including  Andrew  Melanchthon,  Gdrard  Roussel, 
Leievre  d’Etaple,  Pierre  Calvi,  Charles  de  Sainte  Marthe,  and 
Calvin  himself,  found  a  refuge  with  her  from  persecution.  The  ques¬ 
tion  whether  or  not  Margaret  ever  seriously  entertained  the  thought 
of  abjuring  the  Church  of  Rome  has  been  much  debated  by  His¬ 
torians  ;  but  that  she  very  much  inclined  to  the  opinions  of  the 
Reformers  is  not  disputed  either  by  Protestant  or  Catholic  writers  ; 
both  sides  confess  the  fact.  Florimond  de  Remond  says,  in  his 
History  of  the  Birth  and  Progress  of  Heresy  :  “  It  is  particularly 
observed  by  all  the  historians  of  both  parties  that  this  princess  was 
the  sole  cause,  without  designing  any  ill,  of  the  preservation  of  the 
French  Lutherans,  and  that  the  Church,  which  afterwards  took  the 
name  of  Reformed,  was  not  stifled  in  its  cradle  ;  for,  besides  that 
she  lent  an  ear  to  their  discourses,  which  at  first  were  specious,  and 
not  so  bold  as  afterwards,  she,  with  a  good  intention,  maintained 
a  great  many  of  them  in  schools  at  her  own  expense,  not  only  in 
France,  but  also  in  Germany.  She  took  a  wonderful  care  to  pre¬ 
serve  and  secure  those  that  were  in  danger  for  the  Protestant 
religion,  and  to  succour  the  refugees  at  Strasburg  and  Geneva. 
Thither  she  sent  to  the  learned  at  one  time  a  benefaction  of  four 
thousand  livres.  .  .  »  .  In  short,  this  good-natured  princess 

had  nothing  more  at  heart  for  those  nine  or  ten  years  than  to  pro¬ 
cure  the  escape  of  such  as  the  king  exposed  to  the  rigour  of 
justice.  She  frequently  talked  to  him  of  it,  and  by  little  touches 
endeavoured  to  impress  on  his  soul  some  pity  for  the  Lutherans.” 

Margaret’s  influence  would  perhaps  have  induced  Francis  to 
favour  the  Reformation  if  the  extravagance  of  some  hot-headed 
people,  who  posted  up  certain  placards  in  the  year  1 534,  had  not  ex¬ 
asperated  him  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  him  become  afterwards  a 
violent  persecutor  of  Lutheranism — the  name  then  given  in  France 
to  what  has  since  been  called  Calvinism.  She  wras  obliged,  from 
that  time,  to  act  with  great  caution,  and  to  conduct  herself  in  such 
a  manner  as  the  Calvinists  have  highly  condemned,  and  which 
gave  occasion  to  the  Papists  to  say  that  she  perfectly  renounced 
her  errors.  Brantome,  after  saying  that  this  queen  was  suspected 
of  Lutheranism,  adds,  that  u  out  of  respect  and  love  to  her  brother, 
who  loved  her  entirely,  and  always  called  her  his  darling,  she 
never  made  any  profession  or  appearance  of  it ;  and  if  she  be¬ 
lieved  it,  she  always  kept  it  to  herself  with  very  great  seciesy 


Kxviii  Memoir  of  Margaret , 

because  the  king  violently  hated  it,  declaring  that  this  and  every 
new  sect  tended  more  to  the  destruction  of  kingdoms,  monarchies 
and  dominions,  than  to  the  edification  of  souls.”  Others  believe 
that  it  was  not  possible  for  Francis  I.  to  be  ignorant  that  the. 
Queen  of  Navarre  was  a  Lutheran  in  her  heart  ;  her  attachments 
to  the  party,  and  the  protection  she  gave  the  fugitives  for  this 
cause,  were  not  such  things  as  could  be  concealed  from  the  King  of 
France;  he  only  affected  not  to  know  them.  “The  Constable 
de  Montmorency,  discoursing  .  .  .  one  day  with  the  king,  made  no 
difficulty  or  scruple  to  tell  him  that  if  he  would  quite  exterminate 
the  heretics  of  this  kingdom  he  must  begin  with  his  court  and  with 
his  nearest  relations,  naming  the  queen  his  sister.  To  this  the 
king  answered,  ‘  Let  us  not  speak  of  that  ;  she  loves  me  too  much  ; 
she  will  never  believe  but  what  I  believe,  or  take  up  a  religion  to 
the  prejudice  of  my  state/  ”  * 

Catholic  writers  assert  that  some  years  before  her  death  the 
Queen  of  Navarre  acknowledged  her  religious  errors  ;  and  De 
Remond  even  goes  so  far  as  to  imply  that  she  denied  on  her  death¬ 
bed  having  ever  swerved  from  the  standard  of  Roman  orthodoxy. 
Bayle  comments  on  the  remarks  of  this  writer  in  a  singularly 
earnest  and  noble  passage. 

“  I  do  not  examine,”  he  says,  “whether  Florimond  de  Remond 
has  it  from  good  authority  that  she  protested  at  her  death  that 
what  she  had  done  for  the  followers  of  the  new  opinions  proceeded 
rather  from  compassion  than  from  any  ill-will  to  the  ancient 
religion  of  her  fathers.  But,  granting  her  protestation  to  be  sin¬ 
cere,  I  maintain  that  there  was  something  more  heroic  in  her  com¬ 
passion  and  generosity  than  there  would  have  been  had  she  been 
persuaded  that  the  fugitives  she  protected  were  orthodox.  For  a 
princess  or  any  other  woman  to  do  good  to  those  whom  she  takes 
to  be  of  the  household  of  the  faith  is  no  extraordinary  thing,  but 
the  common  effect  of  a  moderate  piety.  But  for  a  queen  to  grant 
her  protection  to  people  persecuted  for  opinions  which  she  believes 
to  be  false  ;  to  open  a  sanctuary  to  them  ;  to  preserve  them  from 
the  flames  prepared  for  them  ;  to  furnish  them  with  a  subsistence  ; 
liberally  to  relieve  the  troubles  and  inconveniences  of  their  exile, 
is  an  heroic  magnanimity  which  has  hardly  any  precedent  ;  it  is 
the  effect  of  a  superiority  of  reason  and  genius  which  very  few  can 
reach  to;  it  is  the  knowing  how  to  pity  the  misfortune  of  those 
who  err,  and  admire  at  the  same  time  their  constancy  to  the  die- 


*  Bran  to  me,  Dames  Illustres. 


xxnr 


Queen  of  N a  oar  re. 

tates  of  their  conscience  ;  it  is  the  knowing  how  to  do  justice  to 
their  good  intentions,  and  to  the  zeal  they  express  for  truth  in 
general ;  it  is  the  knowing  that  they  are  mistaken  in  the  hypo¬ 
thesis,  but  that  in  the  thesis  they  conform  to  the  immutable  and 
eternal  laws  of  order,  which  require  us  to  love  the  truth,  and  to 
sacrifice  to  that  the  temporal  conveniences  and  pleasures  of  life  ; 
it  is,  in  a  word,  the  knowing  how  to  distinguish  in  one  and  the 
same  person  his  opposition  to  particular  truths  which  he  does  not 
know,  and  his  love  for  truth  in  general  ;  a  love  which  he  evidences 
by  his  great  zeal  for  the  doctrines  he  believes  to  be  true.  Such 
was  the  judicious  distinction  the  Queen  of  Navarre  was  able  to 
make  It  is  difficult  for  all  sorts  of  persons  to  arrive  at  this 
science  ;  but  more  especially  difficult  for  a  princess  like  her,  who 
had  been  educated  in  the  communion  of  Rome,  where  nothing  has 
been  talked  of  for  many  ages  but  fagots  and  gibbets  for  those  who 
err.  Family  prejudices  strongly  fortified  all  the  obstacles  which 
education  had  laid  in  the  way  of  this  princess  ;  for  she  entirely 
loved  the  king  her  brother,  an  implacable  persecutor  of  those  they 
called  heretics,  a  people  whom  he  caused  to  be  burned  without  mercy 
wherever  the  indefatigable  vigilance  of  informers  discovered  them. 

I  cannot  conceive  by  what  method  this  Queen  of  Navarre  raised 
herself  to  so  high  a  pitch  of  equity,  reason,  and  good  sense  :  it 
was  not  through  an  indifference  as  to  religion,  since  it  is  certain 
she  had  a  great  degree  of  piety,  and  studied  the  Scriptures  with 
singular  application.  It  must,  therefore,  have  been  the  excellence 
of  her  genius,  and  the  greatness  of  her  soul,  that  discovered  a  path 
to  her  which  scarcely  anyone  knows.  It  will  be  said,  perhaps,  that 
she  needed  only  to  consult  the  primitive  and  general  ideas  of 
order,  which  most  clearly  show  that  involuntary  errors  hinder  not 
a  man  who  entirely  loves  God,  as  he  has  been  able  to  discover  him 
after  all  possible  inquiries,  from  being  reckoned  a  servant  of  the 
true  God,  and  that  we  ought  to  respect  in  him  the  rights  of  the 
true  God.  But  I  might  immediately  answer  that  this  maxim  is  of 
itself  subject  to  great  disputes,  so  far  is  it  from  being  clear  and 
evident  ;  besides  that  these  primitive  ideas  hardly  ever  appear  to 
our  understanding  without  limitations  and  modifications  which 
obscure  them  a  hundred  ways,  according  to  the  different  prejudices 
contracted  by  education.  The  spirit  of  party,  attachment  to  a 
sect,  and  even  zeal  for  orthodoxy,  produce  a  kind  of  ferment  in  the 
humours  of  our  body  ;  and  hence  the  medium  through  which 
reason  ought  to  behold  those  primitive  ideas  is  clouded  and  ob¬ 
scured.  These  are  infirmities  which  will  attend  our  reason  as  long 


jcxx  Memoir  oj  Margaret , 

as  it  shall  depend  on  the  ministry  of  organs.  It  is  the  same  thing 
to  it  as  the  low  and  middle  region  of  the  air,  the  seat  of  vapours 
and  meteors.  There  are  but  very  few  persons  who  can  rise  above 
these  clouds,  and  place  themselves  in  a  true  serenity.  If  anyone 
could  do  it,  we  must  say  of  him  what  Virgil  said  of  Daphnis  : 

Candidus  insuetum  miratur  lumen  Olympi, 

Sub  pedibusque  videt  nubes  et  sidera  Daphnis." 

We  have  seen  how  the  Constable  de  Montmorency  endeavoured 
to  poison  the  mind  of  Francis  I.  against  his  sister.  Margaret 
heard  of  this,  and  resented  it  the  more  strongly,  as  she  had  always 
behaved  to  Montmorency  as  a  friend,  and  especially  she  had  es¬ 
poused  his  interests  in  opposition  to  those  of  his  rival,  Admiral 
Brion.  The  sequel  of  this  affair,  as  related  by  Brantome,  is 
curious  :  “  She  never  afterwards  liked  the  constable,  and  she 
helped  greatly  towards  his  disgrace  and  banishment  from  court  : 
insomuch  that  the  day  on  which  Madam  the  Princess  of  Navarre” 
(Margaret’s  only  daughter)  “  was  married  to  the  Duke  of  Cleves  at 
Chasteleraud,  as  she  was  to  be  led  to  church,  being  so  heavily 
laden  with  jewels,  and  cloth  of  gold  and  silver,  that  by  reason  of 
the  weakness  of  her  body  she  could  not  walk”  (she  was  but  twelve 
years  old),  “the  king  commanded  the  constable  to  take  his  little 
niece  in  his  arms  and  carry  her  to  the  church  ;  at  which  the  whole 
court  was  very  much  surprised,  as  being  an  office  not  suitable  or 
honourable  enough  in  such  a  ceremony  for  the  constable,  and 
which  might  have  been  given  to  some  other  ;  wherewith  the  Queen 
of  Navarre  seemed  not  at  all  displeased,  and  said,  ‘  There  is  a 
man  who  would  ruin  me  with  the  king  my  brother,  and  who  serves 
at  present  to  carry  my  daughter  to  church.’  I  have  this  story  from 
the  person  I  have  mentioned,  and  also  that  the  constable  was  much 
displeased  with  this  office,  and  greatly  mortified  to  be  made  such  a 
spectacle  to  all  the  company,  and  said,  ‘  There  is  an  end  of  all  my 
favour;  farewell,  host.’  And  so  it  happened  ;  for  after  the  enter¬ 
tainment  and  the  wedding  dinner  he  was  dismissed,  and  departed 
immediately.” 

Judging  from  several  original  portraits  of  Margaret  which  are 
preserved  in  the  libraries  of  France,  her  last  editors  infer  that  her 
beauty,  so  much  celebrated  by  the  poets  of  her  time,  consisted 
chiefly  in  the  dignity  of  her  deportment,  and  the  sweet  and  cheer¬ 
ful  expression  of  her  countenance.  Her  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth 
were  large.  She  retained  no  marks  of  the  small-pox  with  which 


XXA 


Queen  oj  Navarre. 

she  was  attacked  before  middle  age,  and  she  preserved  the  fresh¬ 
ness  of  her  complexion  to  a  late  peiod.  Like  her  brother,  to 
whom  she  bore  a  strong  likeness,  she  was  tall  and  stately  ;  but  her 
imposing  air  was  tempered  by  extreme  affability  and  a  merry 
humour.  Her  enthusiastic  panegyrist,  Sainte  Marthe,  says  of  her, 
“Seeing  her  humanely  receive  everybody,  refuse  none,  and  pa¬ 
tiently  listen  to  each,  thou  wouldst  have  promised  thyself  an  easy 
access  to  her  ;  but  if  she  cast  her  eyes  on  thee,  there  was  in  her 
face  I  know  not  what  divinity,  that  would  have  so  confounded  thee 
that  thou  wouldst  have  been  unable,  I  do  not  say  to  walk  one  step, 
but  even  to  stir  one  foot  to  approach  her.”  Though  conforming 
on  special  occasions  to  her  brother’s  sumptuous  tastes,  Margaret’s 
personal  habits  were  remarkably  simple.  She  dressed  plainly, 
and,  after  the  loss  of  her  infant  son,  almost  always  in  black. 
Brantome,  speaking  of  the  extravagant  pomp  displayed  by  Caesar 
Borgia  when  he  visited  France,  remarks  that  the  great  Queen  of 
Navarre  never  had  more  than  “  three  sumpter  mules  and  six  for  her 
litters,  though  she  had  three  or  four  chariots  for  her  ladies.”  Her 
oiographers  have  generally  asserted  that  this  frugality  was  im¬ 
posed  on  Margaret  by  the  precarious  state  of  her  fortune  ;  but  it 
is  rather  to  be  attributed  to  her  sober  character  and  her  munificent 
charity.  The  supposition  that  her  means  were  inadequate  to  her 
rank  is  manifestly  erroneous  ;  for  at  the  very  time  when  they  are 
said  to  have  been  lowest,  we  find  her  declining  to  receive  from 
Henry  II.  payment  of  a  considerable  sum  lent  five-and-twenty 
years  before  to  his  predecessor  in  a  moment  of  financial  difficulty 
and  desiring  that  the  amount  should  be  given  to  the  sisters  of  her 
first  husband,  the  Duke  d’Alengon. 

Distinguished  as  Margaret  was  by  her  mental  powers  and  graces, 
she  was  still  more  admirable  for  the  warmth  and  tenderness  of 
her  affections.  These,  it  is  to  be  feared,  were  but  inadequately 
requited,  and  would  have  been  a  source  of  unhappiness  to  her, 
were  it  not  for  that  precious  prerogative  which  loving  natures 
enjoy,  to  find  pleasure  in  self-sacrifice  and  suffering.  There  was 
little  community  of  feeling  between  her  and  the  Duke  d’Alengon, 
and  their  marriage  was  childless.  The  husband  of  her  choice, 
Henry  of  Navarre,  was  a  handsome,  brave  cavalier,  of  respectable 
capacity,  and  passably  good-humoured,  but  he  had  little  sympathy 
with  his  wife’s  literary  and  theological  tastes,  and  the  difference 
in  their  ages  was  not  favourable  to  connubial  concord.  It  is  even 
said  that  he  treated  her  at  times  with  a  roughness  unworthy  of  a 
hreux  chevalier .  Hilarion  de  la  Coste  says  that  Henry,  “  having 


jcxxii 


Memoir  of  Margaret , 

been  informed  that  there  was  used  in  his  wife’s  chamber  some 
form  of  prayer  and  instruction  contrary  to  that  of  his  fathers., 
entered  it  with  a  resolution  to  punish  the  minister,  but,  finding 
they  had  contrived  his  escape,  the  weight  of  his  anger  fell  upon 
the  queen,  to  whom  he  gave  a  box  on  the  ear,  saying  to  her, 
‘  Madam,  you  want  to  be  too  knowing;’  and  immediately  gave 
advice  of  it  to  King  Francis.”  Brantome,  having  given  some 
instances  of  matrimonial  discord  between  princes,  adds  this  : 
“And  lately  King  Henry  d’Albret,  with  Queen  Margaret  of  Valois, 
as  I  have  it  from  good  hands,  who  treated  her  very  ill,  and  would 
have  done  still  worse  had  it  not  been  for  King  Francis,  her 
brother,  who  spoke  home  and  roughly  to  him,  and  charged  him 
with  threats  to  honour  the  queen  his  sister  in  regard  to  the  rank 
she  bore  ”  The  whimsical  behaviour  of  this  King  of  Navarre  on 
the  occasion  of  the  birth  of  his  grandson,  afterwards  Henry  IV.  of 
France,  may  enable  us  to  guess  how  far  he  was  capable  of  tender¬ 
ness  and  delicacy  of  feeling  in  his  conduct  to  his  wife.  On  hearing 
that  his  daughter  was  pregnant,  he  recalled  her  from  Picardy, 
where  she  was  residing  with  her  husband.  The  princess  arrived 
in  Pau  on  the  4th  of  December,  after  a  journey  of  twenty  days, 
and  nine  days  afterwards  her  child  was  born.  Her  father  had  pro¬ 
mised  that  he  would  put  his  will  into  her  hands  as  soon  as  she 
should  be  delivered,  but  on  condition  that  in  her  labour  she  should 
sing  a  song  :  “To  the  end,”  said  he;  “that  you  may  not  bring 
me  a  crying  and  ill-humoured  child.”  The  princess  promised  that 
she  would,  and  had  so  much  courage  and  resolution  that,  in  spite  of 
the  pains  of  labour,  she  sang,  as  she  heard  him  enter  her  chamber, 
a  Beamish  ditty,  the  burden  of  which  was,  Noste  Donne  deon  cap 
deoa  pon ,  adjonda  mi  en  aqueste  houre — that  is,  “  Our  Lady  of  the 
bridge-end,  help  me  at  this  hour.”  As  soon  as  the  child  was  born, 
his  grandfather  took  him  out  of  the  midwife's  hands,  carried  him 
into  his  cabinet,  and  there  plentifully  rubbed  his  lips  and  gums 
with  garlic,  by  which  horrible  treatment  the  poor  infant  very 
narrowly  escaped  suffocation. 

The  intense  affection  which  Margaret  bestowed  on  her  brother 
he  returned  as  fully  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  do.  His  conduct 
towards  her  was  marked  by  that  imperious  egotism  of  which  he 
gave  so  many  unfortunate  proofs  in  the  most  important  circum¬ 
stances  of  his  life.  He  always  called  her  ma  mignonne ,  but  he 
exacted  unsparingly  from  “his  darling”  the  surrender  of  her 
opinions,  inclinations,  and  feelings  to  the  claims  of  his  policy  or 
his  caprice.  He  even  took  from  her  her  only  surviving  child  wbcii 


xxxiti 


Queen  of  Navarre . 

it  was  but  two  years  old,  and  had  it  brought  into  the  ch&teau  of 
Plessis  les  Tours,  where  the  poor  mother  saw  it  only  at  long 
intervals  during  her  unfrequent  journeys  in  France.  But  Margaret 
was  never  weary  of  making  sacrifices  for  the  brother  she  idolised  ; 
and  it  is  remarkable,  not  less  as  a  characteristic  of  the  age  than 
of  herself,  that,  notwithstanding  the  propriety  of  her  personal 
conduct  and  her  ardent  piety,  she  was  more  than  tolerant  of  the 
illicit  amours  to  which  her  splendid  brother  openly  addicted  him¬ 
self.  She  composed  the  devices  for  the  jewels ‘which  Francis  I. 
presented  to  Madame  de  Chateaubriant ;  she  maintained  a  most 
friendly  intercourse  with  Madame  d’Etampes,  and  to  her  she  pre¬ 
sented  her  poem  of  Le  Coche,  or  the  Debat  d’ Amour,  in  which  she 
pronounced  a  most  pompous  eulogy  on  the  beauty  and  the  virtues 
of  that  royal  mistress. 

The  death,  in  April,  1 547,  of  that  brother  whom  she  had  loved 
so  much,  and  to  whose  glory  and  welfare  she  had  devoted  her 
existence,  was  a  heavy  blow  to  Margaret.*  She  survived  him  but 
two  years,  and  that  brief  remnant  of  her  life  was  spent  chiefly  in 
seclusion  and  religious  abstraction  from  the  concerns  of  the  world. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  not  correctly  stated  by  a  recent  English  writer  t 
that  during  that  period  “  no  solicitations  could  induce  the  queen 
to  emerge  from  her  seclusion,  or  interest  herself  as  formerly  in 
literature  or  politics.”  In  the  very  next  paragraph  the  same  writer 
contradicts  this  loose  assertion,  by  saying  that  Margaret  “  often 
solaced  her  grief  by  composing  elegies  and  plaintive  songs  on  her 
misfortune.”  Besides  this,  it  is  certain  that  the  Queen  of  Navarre 
was  occupied  but  a  few  months  before  her  death  in  the  composition 
of  her  book  of  tales  ;  for  the  66th  novel  of  her  Heptameron 
recounts  a  ludicrous  adventure  which  befel  her  daughter,  Joanne 
d’Albret,  and  the  Duke  de  Vendome,  shortly  after  their  marriage 
in  October,  1548.  Margaret’s  health  began  to  decline  in  the 
summer  of  the  following  year,  and  she  expired  at  the  chateau  of 
Audos,  in  Bigorre,  on  the  21st  of  December,  1549,  in  her  57th  year. 

*  “  In  his  last  sickness,”  says  Brant6me,  "  I  have  heard  that  she  spoke  to 
this  purpose:  ‘Should  the  courier  who  brings  me  news  of  the  king  my 
brother’s  recovery,  be  he  ever  so  tired,  harassed,  mud-bespattered,  and  dirty, 
I  would  embrace  and  kiss  him  as  the  finest  prince  and  gentleman  of  France  ; 
and  should  he  want  a  bed,  and  not  be  able  to  find  one  to  repose  himself,  I 
would  give  him  mine,  and  gladly  lie  on  the  ground,  for  sake  of  the  good  news 
he  brough*. "  ” 

+  The  Life  of  Marguerite  d' Angouleme,  Queen  of  Navarre,  &c.  By  Martha 
Walker  Freer,  avols.  London,  1854. 


KXX1V 


Memoir  of  Margaret , 

Amidst  the  multifarious  occupations  of  her  well-filled  life,  the 
Queen  of  Navarre  found  leisure  to  compose  a  great  number  of 
literary  works,  besides  carrying  on  a  voluminous  correspondence 
with  her  brother,  his  ministers,  and  many  other  person.  Her 
productions  in  verse,  the  greater  part  of  which  have  been  printed, 
consist  of  eight  long  poems  on  sacred,  amorous,  or  historical 
subjects  ;  eight  dramatic  pieces,  including  four  mysteries,  two 
moralities,  and  two  farces  ;  poetical  epistles  to  her  brother,  her 
mother,  and  the  King  ot  Navarre;  and  rondeaux,  dixains  songs, 
and  other  small  pieces.  According  to  the  last  editors  of  the  Hep- 
tameron,  some  of  Margaret’s  fugitive  pieces,  published  by  them  for 
the  first  time,  are  superior  as  literary  works  to  her  more  serious 
compositions,  and  in  them  alone  are  to  be  found  the  gaiety  and 
grace  for  which  she  has  been  so  much  celebrated  by  her  contem¬ 
poraries.  There  is  one  among  them  of  a  graver  character,  which 
appears  to  us  so  remarkable  for  its  impassioned  force  and  its  full 
and  flowing  rhythm  that  we  gladly  lay  it  before  the  reader  : — 

Souvieigne  vous  des  lermes  respar.dues, 

Qui  par  regret  tres  grand  furent  rendues 
Sur  vostre  tant  amyable  visaige  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  du  dangereux  oultraige 
Que  vous  cuida  faire  mon  povre  coeur, 

Press6  par  trop  d'une  extreme  douleur, 

Quand  il  forca  la  voix  de  satis  faire 
Au  tres  grand  maloii  ne  scavois  que  faire, 

Tant  qua  peu  pres  la  pleur  fut  entendu ; 

Souvieigne  vous  du  sens  qui  fut  per*du, 

Tant  que  raison,  parolle  &  contenance 
N’eurent  pouvoir,  ny  force,  ny  puissance, 

De  desclairer  ma  double  passion. 

Ny  aussi  peu  ma  grand  affection  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  du  coeur  qui  bondissoit 
Pour  la  tristesse  en  quoy  il  perissoit  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  des  souspirs  tr6s  ardens 
Qui  4  la  foule  en  despict  de  mes  dents 
Sortoient  dehors,  pour  mieulx  me  soulaiger ; 

Souvieigne  vous  du  peril  &  danger 

Ou  nous  estions,  dont  nous  ne  tenions  compte. 

Car  vraye  amour  ne  congnoist  paour  ny  home ; 

Souvieigne  vous  de  nostre  amour  honneste, 

Dont  ne  devons  pour  nul  baisser  la  teste, 

Car  nous  scavons  tous  deux  certainement 
Qu’honneur  &  Dieu  en  sont  le  fondement ; 

Souvieigne  vous  du  tr&s  chaste  ernbrasser 
Dont  vous  ne  moy  ne  nous  pouvions  laisser 


Queett  of  Navarre .  ran 

Souvieigne  vous  de  vostre  foy  promise 
Par  vostre  main  dedans  la  mienne  mise; 

Souvieigne  vous  de  mes  doubtcs  pass6e* 

Que  vous  avez  en  une  heure  effass^es, 

Prenant  en  vous  si  grande  secured, 

Que  je  m'asseure  en  vostre  fermete  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  que  vous  avez  remis 
Du  plus  parfaict  de  voz  meilleurs  amys 
Le  coeur,  l’esprit  &  le  corps  en  repos, 

Par  vostre  honneste  &  vertueux  propos, 

Auquel  je  veulx  adjouster  telle  foy, 

Que  plus  n’aura  doubte  pouvoir  sus  moy  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  que  je  n’ay  plus  de  pain* 

Que  ceste  l&  que  avecques  moy  je  maine  ; 

C’est  le  regret  de  perdre  vostre  veue, 

Par  qui  souvent  tant  de  joye  ay  receue  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  du  regard  de  vostre  oeil, 

Dont  I’esloingner  me  faict  mourir  de  dueil  J 
Souvieigne  vous  du  lieu  tres  mal  par£ 

Ou  fust  de  moy  trop  de  bien  separ6  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  des  heures  qui  sonnoyent, 

Et  du  regret  qu’en  sonnant  me  donnoient, 

Voyant  le  temps  &  l'heure  s’advancer 
Du  despartir  ou  ne  fays  qae  penser  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  de  l'adieu  redouble 
A  chascun  pas,  de  l'esperit  trouble, 

Du  coeur  trancy  &  du  corps  affoibly, 

Et  ne  mectez  le  triste  oeil  en  oubly  ; 

Souvieigne  vous  de  la  parfaicte  amour, 

Qui  durera  sans  cesser  nuyct  &  jour, 

Qui  a  dens  moy  si  bien  painct  vostre  ymaig^ 

Que  je  n'ay  riens  sinon  vostre  visaige, 

Vostre  parler,  vostre  regard  tant  doulx 
Devant  mes  yeulx  ;  bref,  je  n'y  ay  que  vot 
Vous  suppliant,  o  amye  estim^e, 

Plus  que  nulle  aultre  &  de  moy  tant  aymee* 

Souvieigne  vous  d’immortel  souvenir 
De  vostre  amy,  &  le  vueiltes  tenir 
Dens  vostre  coeur  seul  amy  &  parfaict, 

Ainsi  que  vous  dedens  le  sien  il  faict. 


On  the  whole,  the  Queen  of  N  avarre  has  been  far  more  success* 
fill  in  the  poetical  treatment  of  secular  than  of  sacred  subjects,  and 
for  obvious  reasons.  We  cannot  speak  from  personal  knowledge  of 
her  efforts  in  the  latter  field,  but  we  are  very  well  disposed  to  accept 
the  judgment  pronounced  upon  them  by  the  Bibliophiles  Frangais, 
that  they  are  barren  of  poetry,  and  brimful  of  tediousness,  consist- 


nxxvi  Memoir  of  Margarer, 

ing,  as  they  do,  of  long  paraphrases  of  Scripture,  theological  disser¬ 
tations,  and  metaphysico-devotional  rhapsodies.  One  of  them,  how¬ 
ever,  deserves  more  special  mention,  as  marking  the  author’s  dissent 
from  the  religion'  of  Rome.  “  The  mirror  of  the  sinful  soul  ”( Miroir 
de  fame  pecheresse)  “was  composed  in  a  strain  very  unusual  in  the 
Church  of  Rome,  there  being  no  mention  made  in  it  either  of  male 
or  female  saints,  or  of  merits,  or  of  any  other  purgatory  than  the 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ.”*  The  work  was  consequently  assailed  with 
fierce  denunciations  from  the  orthodox  pulpits.  A  comedy  was 
acted  by  the  students  of  the  College  of  Navarre,  in  which  the  queen 
was  represented  as  a  Fury  of  Hell,  and  the  Sorbonne  decreed  at 
least,  if  it  did  not  promulgate,  a  censure  upon  her  heretical  pro¬ 
duction.  Margaret  complained  to  her  brother,  and  the  result  was 
that  Nicolas  Cop,  rector  of  the  Sorbonne,  expressly  disowned  the 
censure  pronounced  by  the  body  over  which  he  presided  ;  the  stu¬ 
dent-comedians,  and  the  most  intemperate  of  the  preachers,  were 
committed  to  prison;  and  Noel  Beda,  syndic  of  the  faculty  oi 
theology,  who  had  been  the  most  ardent  promoter  of  the  attacks  on 
the  king’s  sister,  died  in  confinement  at  Mont  Saint  Michel. 

The  Heptameron  is,  of  all  Margaret’s  works,  the  one  on  which 
her  literary  reputation  has  mainly  rested  since  her  death.  We  have 
sketched  its  bibliographical  history  in  our  preface,  and  it  now 
remains  for  us  to  speak  of  its  composition.  Dunlop,  who  may  be 
considered  as  expressing  the  general  opinion  of  literary  historians, 
says  that  “  few  of  the  tales  composed  in  it  are  original  ;  for,  except 
about  half-a-dozen  which  are  historically  true,  and  are  mentioned 
as  having  fallen  under  the  knowledge  and  observation  of  the  Queen 
of  Navarre,  they  may  all  be  traced  to  the  Fabliaux,  the  Italian 
novels,  and  the  Cent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles.”  On  the  contrary,  the 
last  editors  of  the  Heptameron  allege  that  “  its  distinctive  character 
is  that  it  reproduces,  under  a  tolerably  transparent  veil,  real  eve  its 
which  happened  at  the  court  of  France,  especially  in  the  reigns  of 
Louis  XL,  Charles  VIII.,  Louis  XII.,  and  Francis  I.  Of  the 
seventy-two  tales  which  compose  the  Heptameron,  we  know  but  five 
or  six  which  are  evidently  borrowed  from  the  French  conteurs 
of  the  thirteenth,  fourteenth,  and  fi  teenth  centuries.  This  charac¬ 
ter  of  truth,  which  has  not  even  been  suspected  by  the  majority  of 
those  who  have  spoken  of  this  collection,  may  be  demonstrated  in 
the  most  evident  manner.”  This  opinion  very  nearly  agrees  with 
the  Queen  of  Navarre’s  own  statement  in  her  prologue,  that  all  the 


•  Beza  Hist.  Ecclcsiast.  book  i.  p.  5. 


xxxvii 


Queen  of  Navarre. 

tales  she  was  about  to  relate  were  founded  on  fact,  and  it  is  cor¬ 
roborated  by  many  evidences,  direct  and  indirect.  Brantome,  for 
instance,  tells  us  that  “  his  mother  knew  some  secrets  of  the 
novels,  and  that  she  was  one  of  the  confabulators  ”  ( une  des  devi- 
santes).  He  analyses  many  of  the  tales  *in  the  Heptameron,  certifies 
the  authenticity  of  some  of  them,  and  makes  known  to  us  the  real 
names  of  certain  persons  whom  Margaret  has  introduced  into  them. 
From  him  we  learn  that,  under  the  title  of  a  Princess  of  Flanders, 
the  Queen  has  portrayed  herself,  and  related  the  audacious  attempt 
made  upon  her  chastity  by  Admiral  de  Bonnivet.  Another  notable 
verification  of  the  Heptameron  is  supplied  by  the  Bibliophiles 
Frangais.  The  first  novel  relates  a  murder  committed  by  a  proc¬ 
tor  at  Aiengon,  and  mentions  that  the  murderer  obtained  letters  of 
pardon  from  the  King  of  France  at  the  intercession  of  the  King  ot 
England.  The  Bibliophiles  have  discovered  these  very  letters  in 
the  French  archives,  and  found  them  to  agree  perfectly  with  the 
Queen  of  Navarre’s  narrative. 

The  more  closely  to  imitate  her  Florentine  model,  she  introduces 
her  tales  by  describing  a  Remarkable  accident  of  nature  by  which 
the  supposed  narrators  are  thrown  together  for  a  season  and  driven 
to  seek  for  some  device  to  while  away  the  time.  Certainly  there  is 
no  comparison  between  the  fine  description  of  the  plague  at  Florence, 
which  opens  the  Decameron,  and  that  multiplicity  of  little  events 
which  the  Queen  has  accumulated  in  her  prologue  ;  nevertheless, 
the  contrivance  of  the  latter  is  sufficiently  ingenious,  and  bears  a 
considerable  resemblance  to  the  frame  of  the  Canterbury  Tales. 
Ten  French  ladies  and  gentlemen,  intercepted  by  a  perilous  inun¬ 
dation  on  their  return  from  the  baths  of  Cauterets,  take  shelter  in  a 
monastery  of  the  Pyrenees,  where  they  are  forced  to  remain  till  a 
bridge  should  be  thrown  over  an  impassable  stream,  and  amuse 
themselves  meanwhile  by  relating  stories  in  a  beautiful  meadow  on 
the  banks  of  the  Gave.  As  to  the  persons  into  whose  mouths  Mar¬ 
garet  has  put  her  stories,  it  is  natural  enough  to  suppose  that  she 
chose  them  from  her  own  family,  and  from  among  the  lords  and 
ladies  who  were  usually  about  her.  Madame  Oisille,  for  instance, 
appears  to  be  Margaret’s  mother,  that  name  being  almost  an  ana¬ 
gram  of  Louise.  She  is  represented  as  an  aged  widow  of  great 
experience,  who  is  as  a  mother  to  the  other  ladies.  The  rest  of  the 
company  call  each  other  simply  by  their  respective  names,  but  in 
addressing  Oisille  they  always  say  Madame.  Many  of  the  novels 
which  turn  on  the  debauchery  and  wickedness  of  the  Franciscans 
or  Cordeliers  are  related  by  Oisille.  The  tone  in  which  she  speaka 


cxxviii  Memoir  of  Margaret , 

of  them  accords  with  the  concluding  passage  of  the  journal  of 
Louise  of  Savoy  :  u  In  the  year  1522,  in  December,  my  son  and  I, 
by  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  began  to  know  the  hypocrites 
white,  black,  grey,  smoky,  and  of  all  colours,  from  whom  God  in 
his  infinite  mercy  and  goodness  preserve  and  defend  us,  for  if 
Jesus  Christ  is  not  a  liar,  there  is  not  among  all  mankind  a  more 
dangerous  generation.” 

Hiican,  another  of  the  ten  interlocutors,  may  very  probably  re¬ 
present  one  of  Margaret's  two  husbands,  out  which  of  the  two  we 
are  not  prepared  to  say.  The  Bibliophiles  infer  that  it  is  the  Duke 
d’Alemjon,  from  the  deference  with  which  he  is  treated  by  the  rest 
of  the  gentlemen  ;  but  surely  this  would  apply  quite  as  well  to  the 
King  of  Navarre.  In  the  prologue,  Hircan  says  to  Simontault, 
“  Since  you  have  been  the  first  to  speak,  it  is  right  that  you  should 
take  the  lead y  for  in  sport  we  are  all  equal;’  Hircan’s  wife,  Par- 
lamente,  who  was  never  idle  or  melancholy,  is  no  doubt  Margaret 
herself ;  and  if  Hircan  is  the  Duke  d’Alen^on,  then  Simontault  is 
probably  the  King  of  Navarre,  or  nice  vcrsd.  With  respect  to  the 
other  six  persons,  the  Bibliophiles  Fran^ais  offer  no  conjectures,  oi 
only  such  as  seem  to  us  of  little  weight. 

The  conversations  in  the  Heptameron  on  the  characters  and  in¬ 
cidents  of  the  last  related  tale,  and  which  generally  introduce  the 
subject  of  the  new  one,  are  much  longer  than  in  the  Italian  novels, 
and  indeed  occupy  nearly  one-half  of  the  work.  Some  of  the  remarks 
are  quaint  and  comical,  others  are  remarkable  for  their  naivetey 
while  a  few  breathe  the  conceits  of  the  Italian  sonneteers  ;  for 
example,  “  It  is  said  that  jealousy  is  love, but  I  deny  it;  for  though 
jealousy  be  produced  by  love  as  ashes  are  by  fire,  yet  jealousy  ex¬ 
tinguishes  love,  as  ashes  smother  the  flame.”  These  epilogues  are 
well  worthy  of  attention,  as  embodying  the  author’s  personal  views 
on  sundry  important  topics,  such  as  friendship,  love,  and  conjugal 
fidelity  ;  and  also  as  a  curious  model  of  conversation  among  per¬ 
sons  of  quality  in  the  first  half  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Especially 
curious  is  it  to  observe  in  them  how  stories  and  comments  of  a  very 
ticklish  character  are  mingled  with  reflections  imbued  with  the 
most  exalted  piety ;  how  the  company  prepare  themselves  by  de¬ 
votional  exercises  for  telling  tales  which  are  often  anything  but 
edifying  ;  and  how,  when  the  day’s  work  is  done,  they  duly  praise 
the  Lord  for  giving  them  the  grace  to  spend  their  time  so  pleasantly. 
Margaret’s  contemporaries  were  by  no  means  shocked  at  these  in¬ 
congruities,  as  our  more  sceptical  age  would  be.  The  causes  of 
this  difference  would  be  an  interesting  subject  of  inquiry,  but  here 


xxxix 


Queen  of  Navarre. 

we  can  only  note  the  fact.  To  give  another  instance  of  it  :  When 
Clement  Marot  published  his  poetical  versions  of  some  of  the 
Psalms,  they  quickly  superseded  all  other  songs  throughout  the 
country.  The  press  could  not  throw  off  copies  fast  enough  to  sup¬ 
ply  the  demand.  Each  of  the  princes  and  courtiers  appropriated  a 
psalm,  and  sang  it  to  such  a  tune  as  he  thought  fit.  Henry  11. 
chose  the  psalm,  Ainsi  qu'on  oyt  le  cerf  br air e,  and  made  a  hunting 
song  of  it.  His  mistress,  Diane  de  Poitiers,  jigged  out  Du  fond 
de  via  pcnsee  to  the  popular  dance  tune,  Le  branle  de  Poitou  ;  and 
Catherine  de  Medici,  in  allusion  to  her  husband’s  infidelities,  pro¬ 
fanely  appropriated  Ne  veuillez  fas,  6  Sire ,  set  to  the  air,  Des 
boujfons. 

We  have  alluded  to  the  questionable  morality  of  the  Heptameron, 
and  certainly  we  will  not  endorse  the  argument  of  its  new  editors, 
who  combat  the  common  opinion  that  it  should  be  classed  among 
licentious  books,  upon  the  plea  that  “  the  Queen  of  Navarre  excels 
in  winding  up  a  tale  of  extreme  gallantry  with  moral  reflections  of 
the  most  rigorous  kind.”  The  best  apology  for  the  book  is  that  its 
author  has  not  exceeded  the  allowed  licence  of  good  society  in  her 
own  age,  and  that  she  is  not  to  be  judged  by  the  standard  of  ours. 
Free  as  her  language  must  often  appear  to  us,  it  will  be  found,  upon 
closer  scrutiny,  to  be  always  controlled  by  certain  conventional 
rules  of  propriety.  Some  grossly  obscene  passages,  for  which  she 
has  incurred  unmerited  censure,  prove  now  to  have  been  the  work 
of  those  manifold  offenders,  her  first  editors. 


INTRODUCTION. 


T  the  beginning  of  September,  when  the  baths  of  the 
Pyrenees  commenced  to  have  effect,  several  persons  from 
France,  Spain,  and  other  countries  were  assembled  at 
those  of  Cauterets,  some  to  drink  the  waters,  others  to 
bathe  in  them,  or  to  be  treated  with  mud  ;  remedies  so  marvellous, 
t^at  the  sick  abandoned  by  physicians  go  home  cured  from 
Cauterets.  My  intention  is  not  to  declare  either  the  situation 
or  the  virtue  of  the  baths  ;  but  only  to  relate  what  is  pertinent 
to  the  matter  I  am  about  to  describe.  The  patients  remained  at 
these  baths  until  they  found  themselves  sufficiently  improved  in 
hr?  1th  ;  but  then,  as  they  were  preparing  to  return  home,  there 
te..  such  excessive  and  extraordinary  rains,  that  it  seemed  as 
though  God  had  forgotten  His  promise  to  Noah,  and  was  again 
about  to  destroy  the  world  with  water.  The  houses  of  Cauterets 
were  so  flooded  that  it  was  impossible  to  abide  in  them.  Those 
who  had  come  from  Spain  returned  over  the  mountains  the  best 
way  they  could.  But  the  French  lords  and  ladies,  thinking  to 
return  to  Tarbes  as  easily  as  they  came,  foand  the  rivulets  so 
swollen  as  to  be  scarcely  fordable  ;  and  when  they  arrived  at  the 
Bearnese  Gave,  which  was  not  two  feet  deep  when  they  crossed 
it  on  their  way  to  the  baths,  they  found  it  so  swollen  and  so 
impetuous  that  they  were  forced  to  turn  out  of  their  direct  course 
and  look  for  bridges.  These,  however,  being  only  of  wood,  had 
be£n  carried  away  by  the  violence  of  the  current.  Some  attempted 
to  ford  the  stream  by  crossing  it  several  together  in  one  body; 
but  they  were  swept  away  with  such  rapidity  that  the  rest  had  no 
inclination  to  follow  their  example.  They  separated,  therefore, 
either  to  look  for  another  route  or  because  they  were  not  ot  the 
same  wray  of  thmking.  Some  crossed  the  mountains,  and,  passing 
through  Aragon,  arrived  in  the  county  of  Roussillon,  and  i.om 
there  to  Narbonne.  Others  wTent  straight  to  Barcelona,  and  th-  ace 
by  sea  to  Marseilles  or  to  Aigues-mortes. 


t  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

But  a  widow  of  long  experience,  named  OisilleAjieterrmned  to 
banish  from  her  mind  the  fear  of  bad  roads,  and  repair  to  Notre 
Dame  de  Serrance ;  not  that  she  was  so  superstitious  as  to 
suppose  that  the  glorious  Virgin  would  quit  her  place  at  her  son’s 
right  hand  to  come  and  dwell  in  a  desert  land,  but  only  because 
she  wished  to  see  the  holy  place,  of  which  she  had  heard  so 
much  ;  and  also  because  she  was  assured  that  if  there  were  any 
means  of  escaping  from  a  danger,  the  monks  were  sure  to  find 
it  out.  She  met  with  no  end  of  difficulties ;  but  at  last  she  arrived, 
after  having  passed  through  places  almost  impracticable,  and  so 
difficult  to  climb  and  descend  that,  notwithstanding  her  age  and 
her  weight,  she  was  compelled  to  perform  the  greater  part  of  the 
journey  on  foot.  But  the  most  piteous  thing  was  that  most  of 
her  servants  and  horses  died  on  the  way,  so  that  she  arrived  at 
Serranco  attended  by  one  man  and  one  woman  only.  She  was, 
however,  charitably  received  by  the  monks. 

There  were  also  among  the  French  party  two  gentlemen, 
who  had  gone  to  the  baths  rather  to  accompany  the  ladies 
they  loved  than  for  any  need  they  themselves  had  to  use  the 
waters.  These  gentlemen,  seeing  that  the  company  was  break¬ 
ing  up,  and  that  the  husbands  of  their  mistresses  were  taking 
them  away,  thought  proper  to  follow  them  at  a  distance,  without 
acquainting  anyone  with  their  purpose.  The  two  married 
gentlemen  and  their  wives  arrived  one  evening  at  the  house  of  a 
man  who  was  more  a  bandit  than  a  peasant.  The  two  young 
gentlemen  lodged  at  a  cottage  hard  by,  and  hearing  a  great  noise 
about  midnight,  they  rose  with  their  varlets,  and  inquired  of  their 
host  what  was  all  that  tumult.  The  poor  man,  who  was  in  a  great 
fright,  told  them  it  was  some  robbers  who  were  come  to  share 
the  booty  that  was  in  the  house  of  their  comrade  the  bandit. 
The  gentlemen  instantly  seized  their  arms,  and  hastened  with 
their  varlets  to  the  aid  of  the  ladies,  holding  it  a  far  happier  fate 
to  die  with  them  than  to  live  without  them.  On  reaching  the 
bandit’s  house,  they  found  the  first  gate  broken  open,  and  the  two 
gentlemen  and  their  servants  defending  themselves  valorously  ; 
but  as  they  were  outnumbered  by  the  bandits,  and  the  married 
gentlemen  were  much  wounded,  they  were  beginning  to  give 
way,  having  already  lost  a  great  number  of  their  servants.  The 
two  gentlemen,  looking  in  at  the  windows,  saw  the  two  ladies 
weeping  and  crying  so  hard  that  their  hearts  swelled  with  pity 
and  love,  and  falling  on  the  bandits  like  two  enraged  bears  from 
the  mountains,  they  laid  about  them  with  such  fury  that  a  great 
number  of  the  bandits  fell,  and  the  rest  fled  for  safety  to  a  place 


Introduction . 


j 

well  known  to  them.  The  gentlemen  having  defeated  these 
villains,  the  owner  of  the  house  being  among  the  slain,  and 
having  learnt  that  the  wife  was  still  worse  than  himself,  de¬ 
spatched  her  after  him,  with  a  sword  thrust.  They  then  entered 
a  room  on  the  basement,  where  they  found  one  of  the  married 
gentlemen  breathing  his  last.  The  other  had  not  been  hurt, 
only  his  clothes  had  been  pierced  and  his  sword  broken  ;  and 
seeing  the  aid  which  the  two  had  rendered  him,  he  embraced 
and  thanked  them,  and  begged  they  would  continue  to  stand  by 
him,  to  which  they  assented  with  great  good-will.  After  having 
seen  the  deceased  buried,  and  consoled  the  wife  as  well  as  they 
could,  they  departed  under  the  guidance  of  Providence,  not 
knowing  whither  they  were  going. 

If  you  would  know  the  names  of  the  three  gentlemen,  that 
of  the  married  one  was  Hircan,  and  his  wife’s  Parlamente. 
The  widow’s  name  was  Longarine.  One  of  the  young  gentle¬ 
men  was  called  Dagoucin,  and  the  other  Safifredent.  They 
were  in  the  saddle  all  day,  and  towards  evening  they  descried 
a  belfry,  to  which  they  made  the  best  of  their  way,  not  with¬ 
out  toil  and  trouble,  and  were  humanely  welcomed  by  the 
abbot  and  the  monks.  The  abbey  is  called  St.  Savin’s.  The 
abbot,  who  was  of  a  very  good  house,  lodged  them  honourably, 
and  on  the  way  to  their  lodgings  begged  them  to  acquaint  him 
with  their  adventures.  After  they  had  recounted  them,  he 
told  them  they  were  not  the  only  persons  who  had  been  un¬ 
fortunate,  for  there  were  in  another  room  two  ladies  who  had 
escaped  as  great  a  danger,  or  worse,  inasmuch  as  they  had 
encountered  not  men  but  beasts ;  for  these  poor  ladies  met  a 
bear  from  the  mountain  half  a  league  this  side  of  Peyrchite, 
and  fled  from  it  with  such  speed  that  their  horses  dropped 
dead  under  them  as  they  entered  the  abbey  gates.  Two  of 
their  women,  who  arrived  long  after  them,  reported  that  the 
bear  had  killed  all  their  men-servants.  The  two  ladies  and 
the  three  gentlemen  then  went  into  the  ladies’  chamber,  where 
they  found  them  in  tears,  and  saw  they  were  Nomerfide  and 
Ennasuite.  They  all  embraced,  and  after  mutually  recounting 
their  adventures,  they  began  to  be  comforted  through  the  sage 
exhortations  of  the  abbot,  counting  it  a  great  consolation  to 
have  so  happily  met  again  ;  and  next  day  they  heard  mass 
with  much  devotion,  and  gave  thanks  to  God  for  that  he  had 
delivered  them  out  of  such  perils. 

Whilst  they  were  all  at  mass,  a  man  came  running  into  the 
church  in  his  shirt,  and  shouting  for  help,  as  if  some  one  was 


4  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

close  at  his  heels.  Hircan  and  the  other  gentlemen  hastened 
to  him  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  saw  two  men  pursuing 
him,  sword  in  hand.  The  latter  would  have  fled  upon  seeing 
so  many  people,  but  Hircan  and  his  party  were  too  swift  for 
them,  and  they  lost  their  lives.  On  his  return,  Hircan  dis¬ 
covered  that  the  man  in  his  shirt  was  one  of  their  com¬ 
panions  named  Geburon.  His  story  was  that,  being  at  a 
cottage  near  Peyrchite,  he  had  been  surprised  in  his  bed  by 
three  men.  Springing  out  in  his  shirt  he  had  seized  his 
sword,  and  mortally  wounded  one  of  them  ;  and  whilst  the 
two  others  were  busy  succouring  their  comrade,  Geburon, 
seeing  that  the  odds  were  two  to  one  against  him,  and  that 
he  was  naked  whilst  they  wore  armour,  thought  his  safest 
course  was  to  take  to  his  heels,  especially  as  his  clothes  would 
not  impede  his  running.  He  too  praised  God  for  his  deliver¬ 
ance,  and  he  thanked  those  who  had  revenged  him. 

After  the  company  had  heard  mass  and  dined,  they  sent  to 
see  if  it  were  possible  to  pass  the  Gave  river,  and  were  in 
consternation  at  hearing  that  the  thing  was  impracticable,  at 
which  the  abbot  entreated  them  many  times  to  remain  with 
him  until  the  waters  had  abated.  This  they  agreed  to  for  that 
day,  and  in  the  evening,  when  they  were  about  to  go  to  bed, 
there  arrived  an  old  monk  who  used  to  come  regularly  every 
September  to  our  Lady  of  Serrance.  Being  asked  news  of  his 
journey,  stated  that,  in  consequence  of  the  flood,  he  had 
come  by  the  mountains,  and  travelled  over  the  worst  roads 
he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life.  He  had  beheld  a  very  sad 
spectacle.  A  gentleman  named  Simontault,  tired  of  waiting 
till  the  river  should  subside,  had  resolved  to  attempt  the 
passage,  relying  on  the  goodness  of  his  horse.  He  had  made 
his  domestics  place  themselves  round  him  *o  break  the  force 
of  the  current  ;  but  when  they  reached  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  the  worst  mounted  were  swept  away  and  were  seen  no 
more.  Thereupon  the  gentleman  made  again  tor  the  bank  he 
had  quitted.  His  horse,  good  as  it  was,  failed  him  at  his 
need  ;  but  by  God’s  will  this  happened  so  near  the  bank  that 
the  gentleman  was  able  at  last  to  scramble  on  all  fours  to  the 
hard,  not  without  having  drunk  a  good  deal  of  water,  and  so 
exhausted  that  he  could  hardly  sustain  himself.  Happdy 
for  him,  a  shepherd,  leading  back  his  sheep  to  the  fields  in  the 
evening,  found  him  seated  on  the  stones,  dripping  wet,  and 
deploring  the  loss  of  his  people,  who  had  perished  before  his 
eyes.  The  shepherd,  who  understood  his  need  both  from  his 


Introduction. 


s 

Appearance  and  Tits  words,  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him 
to  his  cabin,  where  he  made  a  little  fire,  and  dried  him  as  well 
as  he  could.  That  same  evening,  Providence  conducted  to  the 
cabin  the  old  monk,  who  told  him  the  way  to  Our  Lady  of 
Serrance,  and  assured  him  that  he  would  be  better  lodged 
there  than  elsewhere,  and  that  he  would  find  there  an  aged 
widow  named  Oisille,  who  had  met  with  an  adventure  as  dis¬ 
tressing  as  his  own. 

The  company  testified  extreme  joy  at  hearing  the  names  of 
the  good  dame  Oisille  and  the  gentle  knight  Simontault ;  and 
everyone  praised  God  for  having  saved  the  master  and  mistress 
after  the  loss  of  the  servants.  Parlamente  especially  gave  hearty 
thanks  to  God,  for  she  had  long  had  a  most  affectionate 
servant  in  Simontault.  They  inquired  carefully  about  the  road 
to  Serrance,  and  though  the  good  oid  man  represented  it  to 
them  as  very  difficult,  nothing  could  stop  them  from  setting 
out  that  very  day,  so  well  provided  with  all  things  necessary 
that  nothing  was  left  them  to  wish  for.  The  abbot  supplied 
them  with  the  best  horses  in  Lavedan,  good  Bearnese  cloaks, 
wine,  and  plenty  of  victuals,  and  a  good  escort  to  conduct 
them  in  safety  across  the  mountains.  They  traversed  them 

more  on  foot  than  on  horseback,  and  arrived  at  last,  after 

many  toils,  at  Our  Lady  of  Serrance.  Though  the  abbot  was 
churlish  enough,  he  durst  not  refuse  to  lodge  them,  for  fear 
ot  disobliging  the  lord  of  Bearn,  by  whom  he  knew  they  were 
held  in  consideration  ;  but,  like  a  true  hypocrite  as  he  was,  he 
showed  them  the  best  possible  countenance,  and  took  them  to 
see  the  lady  Oisille  and  the  gentleman  Simontault.  All  were 
equally  delighted  to  find  themselves  so  miraculously  re¬ 
assembled,  and  the  night  was  spent  in  praising  God  for  the 
grace  he  had  vouchsafed  them.  After  taking  a  little  rest, 

towards  morning  they  went  to  hear  mass,  and  receive  the  holy 

sacrament  of  union,  by  means  of  which  all  Christians  are 
united  as  one,  and  to  beg  of  God,  who  had  reassembled  them 
through  his  goodness,  the  grace  to  jcomplete  their  journey  for 
his  glory. 

After  dinner  they  sent  to  know  if  the  waters  were  fallen, 
but  finding,  on  the  contrary,  that  they  were  still  higher,  and 
that  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  they  could  pass  safely,  they 
resolved  to  have  a  bridge  made,  abutting  on  two  rocks  very 
near  each  other,  and  on  which  there  still  are  planks  used  by 
people  on  foot,  who,  coming  from  Oleron,  wish  to  pass  the 
Gave.  The  abbot,  very  well  pleased  at  their  incurring  an 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre : 

expense  which  would  increase  the  number  of  pilgrims,  fur¬ 
nished  them  with  workmen  ;  but  he  was  so  miserly  that  he 
would  not  contribute  a  farthing  of  his  own.  The  workmen, 
however,  having  declared  that  it  would  take  at  least  ten  or 
twelve  days  to  construct  the  bridge,  the  company  began  to 
grow  tired.  Parlamente,  the  wife  of  Hircan,  always  active 
and  never  melancholy,  having  asked  her  husband’s  permission 
to  speak,  said  to  old  dame  Oisille,  “  I  am  surprised,  madam, 
that  you,  who  have  so  much  experience  that  you  fill  the  place  of 
a  mother  to  the  rest  of  us  women,  do  not  devise  some  amuse¬ 
ment  to  mitigate  the  annoyance  we  shall  suffer  from  so  long  a 
delay  ;  for  unless  we  have  something  agreeable  and  virtuous 
to  occupy  us,  we  are  in  danger  of  falling  sick.” 

“  What  is  still  worse,”  said  Longarine,  the  young  widow, 
“  we  shall  grow  cross,  which  is  an  incurable  malady  ;  the  more 
so  as  there  is  not  one  of  us  but  has  cause  to  be  extremely 
sad,  considering  our  several  losses.” 

“Everyone  has  not  lost  her  husband  like  you,”  said  Enna- 
suite,  laughing.  “  To  have  lost  servants  is  not  a  matter  to 
break  one’s  heart,  since  they  can  easily  be  replaced.  How¬ 
ever,  I  am  decidedly  of  opinion  that  we  should  pass  the  time 
away  as  agreeably  as  we  can.” 

Nomerfide,  her  companion,  said  it  was  a  very  good  idea,  and 
that  if  she  passed  one  day  without  amusement,  she  should  be  dead 
the  next.  The  gentlemen  all  warmly  approved  of  the  proposal, 
and  begged  dame  Oisille  to  direct  what  was  to  be  done. 

“  You  ask  a  thing  of  me,  my  children,”  replied  the  old  lady, 
“which  I  find  very  difficult.  You  want  me  to  invent  an  amuse¬ 
ment  which  shall  dissipate  your  ennui.  I  have  been  in  search  of 
such  a  remedy  all  my  life  long,  and  I  have  never  found  but  one, 
which  is  the  reading  of  Holy  Writ.  It  is  in  such  reading  that 
the  mind  finds  its  true  and  perfect  joy,  whence  proceed  the  repose 
and  the  health  of  the  body.  If  you  ask  me  what  I  do  to  be  so 
cheerful  and  so  healthy  at  so  advanced  an  age,  it  is  that  as  soon 
as  I  rise  I  read  the  Holy  Scriptures.  I  see  and  contemplate  the 
will  of  God,  who  sent  his  Son  on  earth  to  announce  to  us  that 
holy  word  and  that  good  news  which  promises  the  pardon  of  all 
sins,  and  the  payment  of  all  debts,  by  the  gift  he  has  made  us  of 
his  love,  passion,  and  merits.  This  idea  affords  me  such  joy  that 
I  take  my  psalter,  and  sing  with  my  heart  and  pronounce  with  my 
lips,  as  humbly  as  I  can,  the  beautiful  canticles  with  which  the 
Holy  Spirit  inspired  David  and  other  sacred  authors.  The 
pleasure  I  derive  from  them  is  so  ravishing  that  I  regard  as 


Introduction . 


I 

blessings  the  evils  which  befall  me  every  day,  because  I  have  in 
my  heart  through  faith  Him  who  has  suffered  all  these  evils  for 
me.  Before  supper,  I  retire  in  like  manner  to  feed  my  soul  with 
rfeading.  In  the  evening  I  review  all  I  have  done  in  the  day  ;  I 
ask  pardon  for  my  faults;  I  thank  God  for  his  graces,  and  lie 
down  in  his  love,  fear,  and  peace,  assured  against  all  evils.  This, 
my  children,  is  what  has  long  been  my  amusement,  after  having 
searched  well,  and  found  none  more  solid  and  more  satisfying. 
It  seems  to  me.  then,  that  if  you  will  give  yourselves  every 
morning  for  an  hour  to  reading,  and  say  your  prayers  devoutly 
during  mass,  you  will  find  in  this  solitude  all  the  charms  which 
cities  could  afford.  In  fact,  he  who  kno.ws  God  finds  all  things 
fair  in  him,  and  without  him  everything  ugly  and  disagreeable. 
Take  my  advice,  therefore,  I  entreat  you,  if  you  wish  to  find 
happiness  in  life.” 

“Those  who  have  read  the  Holy  Scriptures,”  said  Hircan, 

“  as  I  believe  we  have  done,  will  confess,  madam,  that  what  you 
have  said  is  true.  But  you  must  also  consider  that  we  are  not 
yet  so  mortified  but  that  we  have  need  of  some  amusement  and 
zorporeal  pastime.  When  we  are  at  home  we  have  the  chase  and 
lawking,  which  make  us  forget  a  thousand  bad  thoughts  ;  the 
ladies  have  their  household  affairs,  their  needlework,  and  some¬ 
times  dancing,  wherein  they  find  laudable  exercise.  I  propose, 
.hen,  on  the  part  of  the  men,  that  you,  as  the  eldest  lady,  read  to 
js  in  the  morning  the  history  of  the  life  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  of  the  great  and  wondrous  things  he  has  done  for  us.  After 
dinner  until  vespers  we  must  choose  some  pastime  which  may 
be  agreeable  to  the  body  and  not  prejudicial  to  the  soul.  By 
this  means  we  shall  pass  the  day  cheerfully.” 

Dame  Oisille  replied  that  she  had  so  much  difficulty  in  for¬ 
getting  vanities,  that  she  was  afraid  she  should  succeed  ill  in  the 
choice  of  such  a  pastime;  also,  that  the  matter  should  be  referred 
to  the  majority  of  voices.  “  And  you,  monsieur,”  she  said  to 
Hircan,  “shall  give  your  opinion  first.” 

“  If  I  thought,”  replied  Hircan,  “that  the  diversion  I  should 
like  to  propose  would  be  as  agreeable  to  a  certain  lady  in  this 
company  as  to  myself,  my  choice  would  be  soon  announced  ; 
but  as  I  am  atraid  this  would  not  be  the  case,  I  have  nothing 
to  say,  but  will  submit  to  the  decision  of  the  rest.” 

His  wife  Parlamente  coloured  up  at  these  words,  believing 
they  were  meant  for  her.  “  Perhaps,  Hircan,”  she  said,  a  little 
angrily  and  half-laughing,  “the  lady  you  think  hardest  to 
please  could  find  means  to  content  herself  It  she  had  a  mind. 


8 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre 

But  let  us  say  no  more  of  the  pastime  in  which  only  two  car*  take 
part,  and  think  of  one  in  which  everybody  can  share.” 

“  Since  my  wife  has  so  well  comprehended  my  views,”  observed 
Hircan  to  the  other  ladies,  "and  a  private  diversion  is  not  to  her 
taste,  I  believe  she  is  the  best  person  to  invent  an  amusement 
which  will  give  satisfaction  to  us  all.  I  declare,  therefor* 
beforehand,  that  I  assent  to  her  proposal.” 

The  whole  company  spoke  to  the  same  effect,  and  Parlamente, 
seeing  that  she  was  appointed  mistress  of  the  sports,  thus  addressed 
the  company :  "Were  I  conscious  of  possessing  as  much  capacity 
as  the  ancients  who  invented  the  arts,  I  would  contrive  an 
amusement  which  should  fulfil  the  obligation  you  lay  upon  me; 
but  as  I  know  myself,  and  am  aware  that  I  find  it  difficult  even 
to  recollect  the  ingenious  inventions  of  others,  I  shall  think 
myself  lucky  if  I  can  closely  follow  those  who  have  already 
done  what  you  desire.  I  believe  there  is  not  one  of  you  but  has 
read  the  novels  of  Boccaccio,  recently  translated  into  French,  and 
which  the  most  Christian  King,  Francis  I.  of  that  name,  Mon¬ 
seigneur  le  Dauphin,  Madame  la  Dauphine,  and  Madame  Mar¬ 
guerite  prized  so  highly,  that  if  Boccaccio  could  hear  them,  the 
praises  bestowed  on  him  by  those  illustrious  persons  would 
surely  raise  him  from  the  dead.  I  can  certify  that  the  two  ladies 
I  have  named,  and  several  other  personages  of  the  court,  resolved 
to  imitate  Boccaccio,  except  in  one  thing — namely,  in  writing 
nothing  but  what  was  true.  Monseigneur  and  the  two  ladies 
arranged  at  first  that  they  would  each  write  ten  tales,  and  that 
they  would  assemble  a  party  of  ten  persons,  selecting  for  it  those 
whom  they  thought  most  capable  of  telling  a  story  with  grace, 
and  expressly  excluding  men  of  letters  ;  for  Monseigneur  did  not 
wish  that  there  should  be  any  intrusion  of  art  into  the  matter, 
and  was  afraid  lest  the  flowers  of  rhetoric  should  be  in  some 
manner  prejudicial  to  the  truth  of  history.  But  the  great  affairs 
in  which  the  king  afterwards  became  involved,  the  peace  con^- 
cluded  between  the  sovereign  and  the  King  of  England,  the 
accouchement  of  Madame  la  Dauphine,  and  several  other  affairs 
of  a  nature  to  occupy  the  whole  court,  caused  this  project  to 
be  forgotten  ;  but  as  we  have  time  to  spare  we  will  put  it  into 
execution  whilst  waiting  for  the  completion  of  our  bridge.  If 
you  think  proper,  we  will  go  from  noon  till  four  o’clock  into 
that  fine  meadow  along  the  Gave  river,  where  the  trees  form  so 
thick  a  screen  that  the  sun  cannot  pierce  it,  or  incommode  us 
with  its  heat.  There,  seated  at  our  ease,  we  will  each  relate 
what  we  have  seen  or  been  told  by  persons  worthy  of  belief. 


Introduction. 


9 

Ten  days  will  suffice  to  make  up  the  hundred.  If  it  please  God 
that  our  work  prove  worthy  of  being  seen  by  the  lords  and  ladies 
I  have  riamed,  we  will  present  it  to  them  on  our  return,  in  lieu 
of  images  and  paternosters,  and  I  am  convinced  that  such  an 
offering  will  not  be  displeasing  to  them.  At  the  same  time,  if 
anyone  can  suggest  something  more  agreeable,  I  am  ready  to  fall 
in  with  his  ideas.” 

The  whole  company  declared  they  could  not  imagine  any¬ 
thing  better,  and  everyone  looked  forward  with  impaiience  for 
the  morrow.  As  soon  as  the  morning  broke  they  all  went  to 
the  chamber  of  Madame  Oisille,  whom  they  found  already  at 
prayers.  She  read  to  them  for  a  good  hour,  after  which  they 
heard  mass,  and  at  ten  o’clock  they  went  to  dinner.  Everyone 
then  retired 4o  his  own  chamber,  and  attended  to  what  he  had 
to  do.  At  noon  all  were  punctually  assembled  in  the  meadow, 
which  was  so  beautiful  and  agreeable  that  it  would  need  a 
Boccaccio  to  depict  all  its  charms  :  enough  for  us  to  say  that 
there  never  was  its  like. 

The  company  being  seated  on  the  green  turf,  so  soft  and  delicate 
that  no  one  had  need  of  floor  or  carpet,  “Which  of  us,”  said 
Simontault,  “shall  have  the  command  over  the  rest?” 

“Since  you  have  been  the  first  to  speak,”  said  Hircan,  “it 
is  right  you  should  have  the  command  ;  for  in  sport  all  are 
equals.” 

“  God  knows,”  replied  Simontault,  “  I  could  desire  nothing 
better  in  the  world  than  to  command  such  a  company.” 

Parlamente,  whovknew  very  well  what  that  meant,  began  to 
cough,  so  that  Hircan  did  not  perceive  she  had  changed  colour, 
and  told  Simontault  to  begin  his  tale,  for  all  were  ready  to  hear 
him.  The  same  request  being  urged  by  the  whole  company, 
Simontault  said,  “  I  have  been  so  ill-requited  for  my  long 
services,  ladies,  that  to  revenge  myself  on  love  and  on  the  fair 
one  who  treats  me  with  so  much  cruelty,  I  am  about  to  make 
a  collection  of  misdeeds  done  by  women  to  men,  in  the  whole 
of  which  1  will  relate  nothing  but  the  simple  truth.” 


THE  HEPTAMERON 

OF 

THE  QUEEN  OF  NAVARRE. 


NOVEL  I. 

h  Woman  of  Alenfon  having  two  lovers,  one  for  her  pleasure  and  the  other  fot 
her  profit,  caused  that  one  of  the  two  to  be  slain  who  was  the  first  to  disco>*er 
her  gallantries — She  obtained  her  pardon  and  that  of  her  husband,  who  had 
fled  the  country,  and  who  afterwards,  in  order  to  save  some  money,  applied 
to  a  necromancer —The  matter  was  found  out  and  punished. 

N  the  lifetime  of  the  last  Duke  Charles  there  was  at 
Alengon  a  proctor  named  St.  Aignan,  who  had  mar¬ 
ried  a  gentlewoman  of  that  country  more  handsome 
than. virtuous,  who,  for  her  beauty  and  her  levity,  was 
much  courted  by  the  Bishop  of  Sees.  In  order  to  accomplish 
his  ends,  this  prelate  took  care  to  amuse  the  husband  so  well, 
that  not  only  he  took  no  notice  of  the  doings  of  either  of  the 
pair,  but  even  forgot  the  attachment  he  had  always  felt  towards 
his  masters.  He  passed  from  fidelity  to  perfidy,  and  finally  went 
the  length  of  practising  sorceries  to  cause  the  death  of  the 
duchess.  The  prelate  maintained  a  long  correspondence  with 
this  unlucky  woman,  who  intrigued  with  him  rather  from  motives 
of  interest  than  of  love  ;  whereto  she  was  also  solicited  by  her 
husband.  But  she  entertained  such  a  passion  for  the  son  of  the 
Lieutenant-General  of  Alengon,  named  Du  Mesnil,  that  it  half 
crazed  her;  and  she  often  made  the  prelate  give  her  husband 
some  commission  or  another,  that  she  m.ght  see  the  lieutenant- 
general’s  son  at  her  ease.  This  affair  lasted  a  long  while,  the 
prelate  being  entertained  for  her  purse,  and  the  other  for  her 
pleasure.  She  vowed  to  Du  Mesnil  that,  if  she  received  the 


I  a  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

bishop  well,  it  was  only  that  she  might  be  the  more  free  to 
continue  her  caresses  to  himself ;  and  that,  whatever  she  did,  the 
bishop  got  nothing  but  words,  and  he  might  be  assured  nobody 
but  himself  should  ever  have  anything  else  of  her. 

One  day,  when  her  husband  had  to  wait  upon  the  bishop,  she 
asked  leave  of  him  to  go  to  the  country,  alleging  that  the  air  of 
the  city  did  not  agree  with  her.  No  sooner  had  she  arrived  at 
his  farm  than  she  wrote  to  the  lieutenant’s  son,  bidding  him 
not  fail  to  visit  her  about  ten  o’clock  at  night.  The  poor  young 
man  did  so  ;  but  on  his  arrival  the  servant  woman  who  usually 
let  him  in,  met  him  and  said,  “  Go  elsewhere,  my  friend,  for 
your  place  is  filled.”  Du  Mesnil,  thinking  that  the  husband 
had  returned,  asked  the  servant  how  all  was  going  on.  Seeing 
before  her  a  handsome,  well-bred  young  man,  the  girl  could  not 
help  pitying  him  to  think  how  much  he  loved,  and  how  little  he 
was  loved  in  return.  With  this  feeling,  she  resolved  to  acquaint 
him  with  her  mistress’s  behaviour,  believing  that  it  would  cure 
him  of  loving  her  so  much.  She  told  him  that  the  Bishop  of 
Sdes  had  but  just  entered  the  house,  and  was  in  bed  with  her 
mistress,  who  had  not  expected  him  till  the  following  day  ;  but 
having  detained  the  husband  at  his  own  residence,  he  had  stolen 
away  by  night  to  visit  her.  The  lieutenant’s  son  was  thunder¬ 
struck  at  this  disclosure,  and  could  hardly  bring  himself  to  believe 
it.  To  clear  up  his  doubts,  he  secreted  himself  in  a  neighbour¬ 
ing  house,  where  he  remained  on  sentry  till  three  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  when  he  saw  the  bishop  come  out,  and  recognized  him 
perfectly  in  spite  of  his  disguise. 

The  young  man  returned  in  despair  to  Alenqon,  where  his 
wicked  mistress  arrived  soon  after.  Never  doubting  but  that  she 
should  dupe  him  as  usual,  she  lost  no  time  in  coming  to  see 
him,  but  he  told  her  that  since  she  had  touched  sacred  things 
she  was  too  holy  to  ta.k  to  a  sinner  like  him,  but  a  sinner  so 
repentant  that  he  hoped  his  sin  would  soon  be  forgiven.  When 
she  found  she  was  discovered,  and  that  excuses  and  promises 
never  to  offend  in  that  way  again  were  of  no  avail,  she  went  off 
and  complained  to  her  bishop.  After  long  pondering  over  the 
matter,  she  told  her  husband  that  she  could  no  longer  reside  in 
Alenqon  because  the  lieutenant’s  son,  whom  he  thought  so  much 
his  friend,  was  incessantly  importuning  her;  and  she  begged 
that  in  order  to  prevent  all  suspicion  he  would  take  a  house  at 
Argentan.  The  husband,  who  allowed  himself  to  be  led  by  her, 
easily  consented. 

They  had  been  but  a  few  days  settled  in  Argentan,  when  this 


Newel  i.]  First  Day.  13 

JT 

wretched  woman  sent  word  to  the  lieutenant’s  son  that  he  was 
the  most  wicked  of  men,  and  that  she  was  not  ignorant  that  he 
publicly  maligned  her  and  the  prelate,  but  that  she  would  yet 
find  means  to  make  him  repent  of  this.  The  young  man,  who 
had  never  spoken  to  anyone  but  herself,  and  who  was  afraid  of 
involving  himself  in  a  quarrel  with  the  prelate,  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  to  Argentan,  attended  only  by  two  of  his  servants. 
He  found  the  lady  at  the  Jacobins,  where  she  was  hearing  ves¬ 
pers,  and  having  placed  himself  on  his  knees  beside  her,  “  I  am 
come,  Madam,”  he  said,  “to  protest  to  you  before  God  that  I 
have  never  complained  of  you  to  any  but  yourself.  You  have 
behaved  so  vilely  to  me  that  what  I  have  said  to  you  is  not  half 
what  you  deserve.  But  if  any  man  or  woman  says  that  I  have 
publicly  spoken  ill  of  you,  I  am  here  to  contradict  them  in  your 
presence.” 

The  proctor’s  wife,  seeing  that  there  were  many  people  in  the 
church,  and  that  he  was  accompanied  by  two  stout  men,  con¬ 
strained  herself,  and  spoke  Jo  him  as  civilly  as  she  could.  She 
told  him  she  did  not  doubt  the  truth  of  what  he  said  ;  that  she 
believed  him  too  upright  to  speak  ill  of  anybody,  and  still  less  of 
her,  who  always  loved  him  ;  but  as  something  had  come  to  her 
husband’s  ears,  she  begged  he  would  say  before  him  that  he  had 
never  spoken  as  had  been  said,  and  that  he  did  not  believe  a 
word  of  such  tales.  To  this  he  readily  consented,  and  took  her 
by  the  arm  to  conduct  her  home  ;  but  she  begged  him  not  to  do 
so,  lest  her  husband  should  suppose  that  she  had  schooled  him  as 
to  what  he  should  say.  Then  taking  one  of  his  servants  by  the 
sleeve,  she  said,  “  Let  this  man  come  with  me,  and  when  it  is 
time  he  shall  bring  you  word.  Meanwhile,  you  may  remain 
quietly  in  your  lodging.”  He,  never  dreaming  of  a  conspiracy 
against  him,  made  no  objection  to  what  she  proposed. 

She  gave  the  servant  she  took  home  with  her  his  supper,  and 
when  the  man  frequently  asked  her  when  would  it  be  time  to 
go  for  his  master,  she  always  replied  that  he  would  come  soon 
enough. 

At  night  she  privily  sent  off  one  of  her  own  domestics  to  fetch 
Du  Mesnil,  who,  having  no  suspicion,  accompanied  the  man  tc 
St.  Aignan’s  house,  having  with  him  only  one  of  his  servants,  the 
other  being  with  the  mistress  of  the  house.  As  he  entered  the 
door,  his  guide  told  him  his  mistress  would  be  glad  to  say  a  few 
words  to  him  before  he  spoke  to  her  husband  ;  that  she  was 
Waiting  for  him  in  a  room  with  only  one  of  his  servants,  and 
hat  he  had  better  sen  1  away  the  other  by  the  front  door.  Ibis 


14  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 

he  accordingly  did  ;  and  as  he  was  going  up  a  narrow  and  very 
dark  flight  of  stairs,  the  proctor,  who  had  set  men  in  ambush, 
hearing  a  voice,  called  out  to  know  what  it  was.  Some  one 
replied  it  was  a  man  who  was  making  his  way  secretly  into  the 
house.  Upon  this,  one  Thomas  Guerin,  an  assassin  by  pro¬ 
fession,  and  hired  by  the  proctor  for  the  occasion,  fell  upon  the 
poor  young  man,  and  gave  him  so  many  sword-wounds  that 
at  last  he  fell  dead.  Meanwhile,  his  servant,  who  was  with  the 
lady,  said  to  her,  “  I  hear  my  master’s  voice  on  the  stairs.  I 
will  go  to  him.”  But  she  stopped  him,  saying,  “Don’t  trouble 
yourself;  he  will  come  soon  enough.”  Soon  afterwards,  hearing 
his  master  cry  out,  “  I  am  a  dead  man  !  My  God  have  mercy  on 
me  !  ”  he  wanted  to  go  to  his  aid,  but  again  she  stopped  him. 
“  Be  quiet,”  she  said  ;  “  my  husband  is  chastising  him  for  his 
pranks.  Let’s  go  see.”  Leaning  over  the  stairhead,  she  called 
out  to  her  husband,  “Well!  is  it  done?”  “Come  and  see,” 
replied  the  husband;  “you  are  avenged  on  him  who  put  you 
to  such  shame.”  And  so  saying,  he  struck  his  dagger  ten  or 
twelve  times  into  the  stomach  of  a  man  whom  when  living  he 
dare  not  have  assailed. 

After  the  deed  was  done,  and  the  two  servants  of  the  mur¬ 
dered  man  had  fled  with  the  sad  tidings  to  his  poor  father,  St. 
Aignan  began  to  consider  what  steps  he  should  next  take.  The 
servants  of  the  murdered  man  could  not  be  admitted  to  give 
evidence,  and  no  one  else  had  seen  the  deed  besides  the  mur¬ 
derers,  an  old  woman-servant,  and  a  girl  of  fifteen.  He  en¬ 
deavoured  to  secure  the  old  woman  ;  but  she  found  means  of 
escape,  and  took  refuge  in  the  Jacobins.  Her  testimony  was 
the  best  that  was  had  respecting  this  crime.  The  young 
chambermaid  remained  some  days  in  St.  Aignan’s  house  ;  but 
contriving  to  have  her  suborned  by  one  of  the  assassins,  he  had 
her  taken  to  Paris,  and  placed  in  a  house  of  ill-fame,  in  order  to 
hinder  her  from  being  believed  as  a  witness.  That  nothing 
else  might  remain  to  prove  his  guilt,  he  burned  the  body  ;  and 
the  bones  which  the  fire  could  not  consume  he  had  mixed  with 
mortar,  for  he  was  then  building.  All  this  being  done,  he  sent  to 
the  court  to  sue  for  his  pardon,  and  set  forth  that  having  as¬ 
certained  that  the  deceased  was  endeavouring  to  dishonour  his 
wife,  he  had  often  forbid  him  his  house  ;  that  he  had  come  not¬ 
withstanding  by  night,  under  suspicious  circumstances,  to  speak 
with  her,  and  that  having  found  him  at  the  door  of  his  wife's 
chamber,  he  had  killed  him  more  in  the  heat  of  anger  than  de¬ 
liberately.  But  in  spite  of  his  haste,  before  he  had  despatched  his 


Noiel  i.]  .  First  Day .  15 

letter,  the  duke  and  duchess  learned  the  whole  truth,  which  they 
had  from  the  father  of  the  unfortunate  youngs  man,  and  made 
it  known  to  the  chancellor  in  order  to  hinder  St.  Aignan  from 
obtaining  his^pardon.  Seeing  this,  the  wretch  fled  to  England 
with  his  wife  and  several  of  her  relations.  Before  his  depar¬ 
ture,  he  told  the  assassin  he  had  employed  that  he  had  express 
orders  from  the  king  to  arrest  him  and  have  him  put  to  death  ;  but 
that,  in  consideration  of  the  service  he  had  rendered  him,  he 
would  save  his  life.  He  gave  him  ten  crowns  to  quit  the  realm, 
and  the  man  has  never  been  heard  of  since.  The  murder,  how¬ 
ever,  was  so  well  verified  by  the  servants  of  the  deceased,  by 
the  old  woman  who  had  fled  to  the  Jacobins,  and  by  the  bones 
which  were  found  in  the  mortar,  that  the  criminal  process 
was*  completed  in  the  absence  of  St.  Aignan  and  his  wife, 
who  were  condemned  to  death  as  contumacious,  to  pay  their 
victim’s  father  fifteen  hundred  crowns  for  the  cost  of  the  pro¬ 
cess,  and  to  have  the  rest  of  their  property  confiscated  to  the 
sovereign.  > 

St.  Aignan  being  in  England,  and  finding  himself  condemned 
to  death  in  France,  so  managed  by  his  services  to  gain  the 
goodwill  of  several  great  lords,  and  set  his  wife’s  relations  to 
work  to  such  purpose,  that  the  King  of  England  entreated  the 
King  of  France  to  pardon  him  and  to  restore  him  to  his  posses¬ 
sions  and  his  honours.  The  king  having  been  informed  of  the 
atrocity  of  this  affair,  sent  the  details  of  the  process  to  the  King 
of  England,  and  begged  him  to  consider  if  the  crime  was  one 
which  could  be  pardoned  ;  adding,  that  throughout  his  realm 
none  but  the  Duke  of  Alenqon  alone  had  the  privilege  of  granting 
grace  in  his  duchy.  The  King  of  England  did  not  yield  to  these 
representations,  but  so  urgently  solicited  St.  Aignan’s  pardon 
that  at  last  he  obtained  it. 

On  his  return  home,  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  his  wickedness, 
the  proctor  made  acquaintance  with  a  sorcerer  named  Gallery, 
hoping  to  be  put  by  him  in  a  way  to  escape  payment  of  the 
fifteen  hundred  crowns  due  by  him  to  his  victim’s  father. 
To  this  end,  he  and  his  wife  went  in  disguise  to  Paris  ;  but  the 
wife,  seeing  how  he  often  shut  himself  up  for  a  long  time  with 
Gallery  without  saying  a  word  to  her,  watched  them  one  morning, 
and  saw  Gallery  set  before  her  husband  five  wooden  images, 
three  of  which  had  their  hands  hanging  down,  and  two  had  them 
raised.  "  We  must  have  waxen  images  made  like  them,”  said 
Gallery  to  St.  Aignan  ;  “  those  which  shall  have  their  arms 
hanging  down  will  be  for  the  persons  we  shall  cause  to  die ;  and 


1 6  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

hose  with  raised  arms  will  be  for  the  persons  whose  goodwill 
we  seek.” 

“Very  well,”  said  the  proctor.  “This  one,  then,  shall  be 
for  the  king,  by  whom  I  would  be  favoured,  and  this  one  for 
Monsieur  Brinon,  Chancellor  of  Alenqon.” 

“  The  images,”  said  Gallery,  “  must  be  put  under  the  altar, 
where  they  will  hear  mass,  with  certain  words  which  I  will 
teach  you  at  the  proper  time.” 

The  proctor  coming  then  to  the  images  with  pendent  arms 
said  that  one  was  for  Maitre  Gilles  du  Mesnil,  father  of  the  de 
ceased  for  he  knew  well  that,  as  long  as  the  old  man  lived,  he 

would  not  cease  to  pursue  the  murderer  of  h-is  son.  One  of 

the  female  figures  with  pendent  arms  was  for  my  lady  the 
Duchess  of  Alencon,  the  king’s  sister,  because  she  was  so  fond  of 
her  old  servant  Du  Mesnil,  and  had  on  so  many  occasions 
known  the  wickedness  of  the  proctor,  that  unless  she  died  he 
could  not  live.  The  second  female  figure  of  the  same  sort  was 
for  his  wife,  who,  he  said,  was  the  cause  of  all  his  misfortunes, 
and  who,  he  well  knew,  would  never  amend.  His  wife,  who 
was  peeping  through  the  keyhole,  and  found  herself  on  the  list 
of  victims,  thought  it  high  time  to  anticipate  him.  She  had  ar. 
uncle,  named  Neaufle,  who  was  referendary  to  the  Duke  ol 

Alencon,  and  going  to  him  under  t^e  pretence  of  borrowing 

money,  she  related  to  him  all  she  had  seen  and  heard.  The 
uncle,  a  good  old  servant  of  the  duke's,  went  to  the  Chancellor 
of  Alencon,  and  communicated  to  him  what  he  had  learnt  from 
his  niece.  As  the  duke  and  duchess  were  not  that  day  at  court, 
the  chancellor  waited  on  Madame  la  Rdgente,  the  mother  of 
the  king  and  the  duchess,  who,  as  soon  as  she  was  informed  of 
the  matter,  set  La  Barre,  the  Provost  of  Paris,  to  work  at  once. 
'I  he  proiost  did  his  duty  so  promptly  and  so  well,  that  the 
proctor  and  the  necromancer  were  both  arrested.  Neither 
torture  nor  constraint  was  required  to  make  them  avow  their 
guilt,  and,  on  thrir  own  confession,  judgment  was  completed 
and  laid  before  the  king.  Some  persons,  who  wished  to  save 
the  lives  of  the  culprits,  represented  to  the  king  that  they  had 
no  other  intention  in  performing  their  enchantments  than  to  secure 
his  good  graces  ;  but  the  king,  to  whom  his  sister’s  life  was  as 
dear  as  his  own,  commanded  that  they  should  be  sentenced  just 
as  though  they  had  been  guilty  against  his  own  person.  His 
sister,  the  Duchess  of  Alencon,  nevertheless  entreated  the  king 
to  spare  the  proctor’s  life,  and  condemn  him  to  a  severe  cor¬ 
poral  puni-shment.  Her  request  was  granted,  and  St.  Aignan  and 


\ 

Nivel  i.J  First  Bay .  sf 

Galler)-  were  sent  to  Saint  Blancart’s  galleys  at  Marseilles,  where 
they  ended  their  days,  and  had  leisure  to  reflect  on  the  atrocity  of 
their  crimes.  The  proctor’s  wicked  wife,  after  the  loss  of  her 
husband,  conducted  herself  worse  than  ever,  and  died  miserably.* 

/Consider,  ladies,  I  beseech  you,  what  disorders  a  wiCKed 
woman  occasions,  and  how  many  evils  ensue  from  the  sin  of 
the  one  you  have  just  heard  of.  Since  Eve  made  Adam  sin,  it 
has  been  the  business  of  woman  to  torment,  kill,  and  damn 
men.  For  my  part,  I  have  had  so  much  experience  of  their  cruelty, 
that  I  shall  lay  my  death  to  nothing  but  the  despair  into  which 
one  of  them  has  plunged  me.  And  yet  I  am  crazed  enough  to 
confess  this  hell  is  more  agreeable  to  me,  coming  from  her 
hand,  than  the  paradise  which  another  might  bestow  upon  me. 

Parlamente,  affecting  not  to  understand  that  it  was  of  herself 
he  spoke,  replied,  “  If  hell  is  as  agreeable  as  you  say,  you  can’t 
be  afraid  of  the  devil  who  put  you  into  it.” 

“  If  my  devil,’’  replied  Simontault  in  a  pet,  “  were  to  become  as 
black  as  it  has  been  cruel  to  me,  it  would  cause  this  company 
as  much  fright  as  I  feel  pleasure  in  looking  upon  it.  But  the  tire 
of  love  makes  me  forget  the  fire  of  that  hell.  So  I  will  say  no 
more  about  it,  but  call  upon  Madame  Oisille,  being  assured 
that  if  she  would  speak  of  women  as  she  knows  them,  she  would 
corroborate  my  opinion.” 

The  whole  company  turned  to  the  old  lady  and  begged  her  to 
begin,  which  $he  did  with  a  smile,  and  with  this  little  preamble: 
“  it  seems  to  me,  ladies,  that  the  last  speaker  has  cast  such  a 
slur  upon  our  sex  by  the  true  story  he  has  narrated  of  a  wretched 
woman,  that  I  must  run  back  through  all  the  past  years  of  my 
life  in  order  to  call  to  my  mind  one  woman  whose  virtue  was  such 
as  to  belie  the  bad  opinion  he  has  of  our  sex.  Happily  I  recol¬ 
lect  one  such  woman,  who  deserves  not  to  be  forgotten,  and  will 
now  relate  her  story  to  you.” 

*  The  events  related  in  this  novel,  and  the  names  of  the  persons,  are  all  real. 
The  last  editors  of  the  Heptameron  (la  Soci£t£  des  Bibliophiles  Fran^ais,  1853) 
have  published  the  writ  of  pardon  granted  by  Francis  I.  to  St.  Aignan,  the 
original  of  which  is  preserved  in  the  Archives  Nationales.  The  writ,  as  usual, 
recites  the  statement  of  the  case  made  by  the  petitioner  for  pardon,  and  this 
agrees  closely  with  the  Queen  of  Navarre's  narrative,  allowance,  of  course, 
being  m  ide  for  the  peculiar  colouring  which  it  was  the  murderer’s  interest  to 
give  to  the  facts. 


C 


i8 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre \ 


NOVEL  II. 

Chaste  and  lamentable  death  of  the  wife  of  one  of  the  Queen  cxf  Navarre'i 

muleteers. 

T  Amboise  there  once  lived  a  muleteer,  who  was  in  the 
service  of  the  Queen  of  N avarre,  sister  of  F rancis  I.  This 
princess  being  at  Bois,  where  she  was  delivered  of  a  son, 
the  muleteer  went  thither  to  receive  his  quarterly  pay¬ 
ment,  and  left  his  wife  at  Amboise,  where  they  lived,  in  a  house 
beyond  the  bridges.  There  lived  with  them  for  a  long  time  one 
of  the  muleteer’s  men,  who  had  felt  such  a  passion  for  her  that  at 
last  he  could  not  help  declaring  it  ;  but  she,  being  a  virtuous 
woman,  reproved  him  so  sharply,  threatening  to  have  him  beaten 
and  dismissed  by  her  husband,  that  he  never  afterwards  durst 
address  her  with  such  language.  Nevertheless,  the  fire  of  his 
love,  though  smothered,  was  not  extinguished.  His  master  then 
being  at  Blois,  and  his  mistress  at  vespers  at  St.  Florentin, 
which  is  the  church  of  the  castle,  very  remote  from  the  muleteer’s 
house,  in  which  he  was  left  alone,  he  resolved  to  have  by  force 
what  he  could  not  obtain  either  by  prayers  or  services.  To  this 
end  he  broke  an  opening  through  the  boarded  partition  between 
his  mistress’s  chamber  and  that  in  which  he  himself  slept. 
This  was  not  perceived,  being  covered  by  the  curtains  of  the 
master’s  bed  on  one  side,  and  by  those  of  the  men’s  bed  on  the 
other. 

When  the  poor  woman  had  gone  to  bed  with  a  little  girl 
of  twelve  years  old,  and  was  sleeping  soundly,  as  one  usually 
does  in  the  first  sleep,  the  man  entered  the  room  through  the 
opening,  in  his  shirt,  with  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  got  into 
the  bed  with  her.  The  moment  she  felt  him  she  sprang  out 
of  bed,  and  addressed  such  remonstrances  to  him  as  would 
occur  to  any  woman  of  honour  in  the  like  case.  He,  whose 
love  was  but  brutality,  and  who  would  better  have  understood 
the  language  of  his  mules  than  such  virtuous  pleadings, 
appeared  more  insensible  to  reason  than  the  brutes  with  which 
he  had  long  associated.  Seeing  that  she  ran  so  fast  round 
a  table  that  he  could  not  catch  her,  and  that,  although  he  had 
twice  laid  hands  on  her,  she  had  strength  enough  both  times 
to  break  from  his  grasp,  he  despaired  of  ever  taking  her  alive, 
and  stabbed  her  in  the  loins,  to  see  if  pain  would  make  hei 
yield  what  fear  and  force  had  failed  to  extort  from  her.  But 
it  was  quite  the  reverse;  for  as  a  brave  soldier  when  he  sec« 


Novel  2.]  First  Day.  19 

his  own  blood  is  the  hotter  to  revenge  himself  on  his  enemies 
and  acquire  honour,  so,  her  chaste  heart  gathering  new  strength, 
she  ran  faster  than  ever,  to  escape  falling  into  the  hands  of 
tMit  wretch,  at  the  same  time  remonstrating  with  him  in  the 
best  way  she  could,  thinking  by  that  means  to  make  him 
conscious  of  his  fault.  But  he  was  in  such  a  frenzy  that  he 
was  incapable  of  profiting  by  good  advice.  In  spite  of  the 
speed  with  which  she  ran  as  long  as  her  strength  lasted,  she 
received  several  more  wounds,  till  at  length,  weakened  by  loss 
of  blood,  and  feeling  the  approach  of  death,  she  raised  her  eyes 
and  her  clasped  hands  to  heaven,  and  gave  thanks  to  God,  whom 
she  called  her  strength,  her  virtue,  her  patience,  and  her 
chastity,  beseeching  him  to  accept  the  blood  which,  according 
to  his  commandment,  was  shed  through  respect  for  that  of  his 
son,  wherein  she  was  thoroughly  assured  that  all  sins  are  washed 
out,  and  effaced  from  the  memory  of  his  wrath.  Then  exclaim¬ 
ing  “  Lord,  receive  my  soul  which  thy  goodness  has  redeemed,” 
she  fell  on  her  face,  and  received  several  more  wounds  from  the 
villain,  who,  after  she  had  lost  the  power  of  speech  and  motion, 
satisfied  his  lust,  and  fled  with  such  speed  that,  in  spite  of  all 
efforts  to  track  him,  he  was  never  heard  of  afterwards. 

The  little  girl  who  had  been  in  bed  with  the  poor  woman 
had  hid  herself  beneath  it  in  her  fright ;  but  as  soon  as  she  saw 
that  the  man  was  gone,  she  went  to  her  mistress,  and  finding 
her  speechless  and  motionless,  she  called  out  through  the  window 
to  the  neighbours  for  help.  Esteeming  and  liking  the  muleteer’s 
'wife  as  much  as  any  woman  in  the  town,  they  all  huiried  at 
once  to  her  aid,  and  brought  with  them  surgeons,  who  found 
that  she  had  received  twenty-five  mortal  wounds.  They  did  all 
they  could  for  her,  but  she  was  past  saving.  She  lingered,  how¬ 
ever,  for  an  hour,  making  signs  with  her  eyes  and  hands,  and 
showing  thereby  that  she  had  not  lost  consciousness.  A  priest 
having  asked  her  in  what  faith  she  died,  she  replied,  by  signs  as 
unequivocal  as  speech,  that  she  put  her  trust  in  the  death  of 
Jesus  Christ,  whom  she  hoped  to  see  in  his  heavenly  glory. 
And  so,  with  a  serene  countenance  and  eyes  uplifted  to  heaven, 
she  surrendered  her  chaste  body  to  the  earth,  and  her  soul  to  her 
Creator. 

Her  husband  arrived  just  as  they  were  about  to  carry  hei 
to  the  grave,  and  was  shocked  to  see  his  wife  dead  before  he 
had  heard  any  news  of  her  ;  but  double  cause  he  had  to  grieve 
when  he  was  told  how  she  had  died  ;  and  so  poignant  was 
his  sorrow  that  it  had  like  to  cost  him  his  life.  The  rnariyr 


lo  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

of  chastity  was  buried  in  the  church  of  St.  Florentin,  being 
attended  to  the  grave  by  all  the  virtuous  women  of  the  place, 
who  did  all  possible  honour  to  her  memory,  deeming  it  a 
happiness  to  be  the  townswomen  of  one  so  virtuous.  Those, 
too,  who  had  led  bad  lives,  seeing  the  honours  paid  to  the 
deceased,  amended  their  ways,  and  resolved  to  live  better  for  the 
time  to  come.* 

There,  ladies,  you  have  a  true  tale,  and  one  which  may  well 
incite  to  chastity,  which  is  so  fine  a  virtue.  Ought  we  not  to 
die  of  shame,  we  who  are  of  good  birth,  to  feel  our  hearts  full 
of  the  love  of  the  world,  since,  to  avoid  it,  a  poor  muleteer’s 
wife  did  not  fear  so  cruel  a  death  ?  Therefore  we  must  humble 
ourselves,  for  God  does  not  bestow  his  graces  on  men  because 
they  are  noble  or  rich  ;  but,  according  as  it  pleases  his  goodness, 
which  regards  not  the  appearance  of  persons,  He  chooses  whom 
He  will.  He  honours  with  his  virtues,  and  finally  crowns  with 
his  glory,  those  whom  He  has  elected  ;  and  often  He  chooses  low 
and  despised  things  to  confound  those  which  the  world  esteems 
high  and  honourable.  Let  us  not  rejoice  in  our  virtues,  as  Jesus 
Christ  says,  but  let  us  rejoice  for  that  we  are  enrolled  in  the  Book 
of  Life. 

The  ladies  were  so  touched  by  the  sad  and  glorious  death  of 
the  muleteer’s  wife,  that  there  was  not  one  of  them  but  shed 
tears,  and  promised  herself  that  she  would  strive  to  follow  such 
an  example  should  fortune  expose  her  to  a  similar  trial.  At  last, 
Madame  Oisille,  seeing  they  were  losing  time  in  praising  the  dead 
woman,  said  to  Saffredent,  “  If  you  do  not  say  something  to  make 
the  company  laugh,  no  one  will  forgive  me  for  the  fault  I  have 
committed  in  making  them  weep.”  Saffredent,  who  was  really 
desirous  to  say  something  good  and  agreeable  to  the  company, 
and  especially  to  one  of  the  ladies,  repbed  that  this  honour  was 
not  due  to  him,  and  that  there  were  others  who  were  older  and 
more  capable  than  himself  who  ought  to  sptak  before  him.  “  But 
since  you  will  have  it  so,”  he  said,  “the  best  thing  I  can  do  is 
to  despatch  the  matter  at  once,  for  the  more  good  speakers  pre¬ 
cede  me,  the  more  difficult  will  my  task  be  when  my  turn  comes." 

*  The  tragedy  here  related  is  thought  to  have  occurred  after  August,  1530, 
when  Margaret  was  delivered  of  a  son  named  Jean,  who  lived  only  two  months. 


Navel  3.] 


21 


First  Day . 

NOVEL  III. 

A.  King  of  Naples,  having  debauched  the  wife  of  a  gentleman,  at  last  wear* 
1  horns  himself. 

S  I  have  often  wished  I  had  shared  the  good  for- 
tune  of  one  about  whom  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a 
tale,  I  must  intorm  you  that  in  the  time  of  King 
Alfonso,  the  sceptre  of  whose  realm  was  lascivious¬ 
ness,  there  was  at  Naples  a  handsome,  agreeable  gentleman, 
ii:  whom  nature  and  education  had  combined  so  many  per¬ 
fections,  that  an  old  gentleman  gave  him  his  daughter,  who  for 
beauty  and  engaging  qualities  was  in  no  respects  inferior  to  her 
husband.  Great  was  their  mutual  love  during  the  first  months  of 
their  marriage  ;  but  the  carnival  being  come,  and  the  king  going 
masked  into  the  houses,  where  everyone  did  his  best  to  receive 
him  well,  he  cane  to  this  gentleman’s,  where  he  met  with  a 
better  reception  than  anywhere  else.  Confections,  music,  con¬ 
certs,  and  other  amusements  were  not  forgotten  ;  but  what 
pleased  the  king  most  was  the  wife,  the  finest  woman,  to  his 
thinking,  he  had  ever  seen.  After  the  repast  she  sang  with  her 
husband,  and  that  so  pleasingly  that  she  seemed  still  more 
beautiful.  The  king,  seeing  so  many  perfections  in  one  person, 
took  much  less  pleasure  in  the  sweet  harmony  of  the  husband 
and  wife  than  in  thinking  how  he  might  break  it.  Their  mutual 
affection  appeared  to  him  a  great  obstacle  to  his  design  ;  there¬ 
fore  he  concealed  his  passion  as  well  as  he  could  ;  but  to  solace 
it  in  some  manner  he  frequently  entertained  the  lords  and  ladies 
of  Naples,  and  did  not  forget  the  husband  and  his  wife. 

As  one  readily  believes  what  one  desires,  the  king  thought 
that  the  lady’s  eyes  promised  him  something  agreeable,  if  only 
those  of  the  husband  were  not  in  the  way.  To  put  his  conjec¬ 
ture  to  the  proof,  he  sent  the  husband  to  Rome  with  a  commis¬ 
sion  which  would  occupy  him  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks.  When 
he  was  gone,  his  wife,  who  never  before  had  lost  sight  of  him, 
»o  to  speak,  was  in  the  deepest  affliction.  The  king  went  to  see 
her  frequently,  and  did  his  best  to  console  her  by  obliging  words 
and  presents.  In  a  word,  he  played  his  part  so  well  that  she 
was  not  only  consoled,  but  even  very  well  pleased  with  her  hus¬ 
band’s  absence.  Brfore  the  end  of  three  weeks  she  was  so 
much  in  love  with  the  king  that  she  was  quite  as  distressed  at 
her  husband’s  return  as  she  had  been  at  his  departure.  That 
she  might  not  be  deprived  of  the  king’s  presence,  it  was  settled 
between  them  that  whenever  the  husband  went  to  the  country 


22  The  Heptamero?i  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

she  should  give  notice  to  the  king,  who  then  might  come  to  see 
her  in  perfect  security,  and  so  secretly  that  her  honour,  which 
she  respected  more  than  her  conscience,  should  not  be  hurt ; 
a  hope  which  the  fair  lady  d\velt  on  with  great  pleasure. 

The  husband,  on  his  return,  was  so  well  received  by  his  wife, 
that  even  had  he  been  told  that  the  king  fondled  her  during  his 
absence,  he  never  could  have  believed  it.  But  in  course  of  time 
this  tire,  which  such  pains  were  taken  to  conceal,  began  gradually 
to  make  itself  visible,  and  became  at  last  so  glaring  that  the  hus¬ 
band,  justly  alarmed,  set  him  to  observe,  and  with  such  effect 
that  he  had  scarcely  any  room  left  for  doubt.  But  as  he  was 
afraid  that  he  who  wronged  him  would  do  him  a  still  worse  mis¬ 
chief  if  he  made  any  noise  about  the  matter,  he  resolved  to  dis¬ 
semble,  thinking  it  better  to  live  with  grief  at  his  heart,  than  to 
expose  his  life  for  a  woman  who  did  not  love  him.  Nevertheless,  he 
longed,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  resentment,  to  retaliate  on  the 
king,  if  it  were  possible  ;  and  as  he  knew  that  spite  will  make  a 
woman  do  more  than  love,  especially  such  as  are  of  a  great  and 
honourable  spirit,  he  took  the  liberty  cne  day  to  say  to  the  queen 
how  grieved  he  was  that  the  king  her  husband  treated  her  with 
indifference.  The  queen,  who  had  heard  of  the  king’s  amour 
with  his  wife,  replied  that  she  could  not  have  honour  and  plea¬ 
sure  both  together.  “  I  know  well,”  she  added,  “  that  I  have  the 
honour  whereof  another  receives  the  pleasure  ;  but  then  she  who 
has  the  pleasure  has  not  the  same  honour  as  is  mine.” 

Well  knowing  to  whom  these  words  applied,  the  gentleman  re¬ 
sponded,  “  Honour  is  born  with  you,  madam.  You  are  of  so 
good  a  lineage  that  the  rank  of  queen  or  empress  could  add 
nothing  to  your  nobility  ;  but  your  beauty,  your  graces,  and  your 
winning  deportment  merit  so  much  pleasure,  that  she  who  robs 
you  of  that  which  is  your  due  does  more  harm  to  herself  than  to 
you,  since  for  a  glory  which  turns  to  shame  she  loses  as  much 
pleasure  as  you  or  any  woman  in  the  kingdom  could  enjoy.  And 
1  can  tell  you,  madam,  that  the  king,  the  crown  apart,  is  not  more 
capable  than  I  of  contenting  a  woman.  Far  from  it,  I  am  certain 
that  to  satisfy  a  woman  of  your  merit  the  king  ought  to  wish  that 
he  was  of  my  temperament.” 

“  Though  the  king  is  of  a  more  delicate  complexion  than  you,” 
replied  the  queen,  laughing,  “the  love  he  has  for  me  gratifies  me 
so  much  that  1  prefer  it  to  any  other  thing.” 

“  If  that  be  so,  madam,”  returned  the  gentleman,  “  I  no  longer 
pity  you.  I  know  that  if  the  king  had  for  you  a  love  as  pure 
as  that  you  have  for  him,  you  would  literally  enjoy  the  gratifi- 


Novel  3.]  First  Day.  23 

cation  yoja  speak  of ;  but  God  has  determined  that  it  should  be 
otherwise,  in  order  that,  not  finding  in  him  what  you  desire,  you 
should  not  make  him  your  god  on  earth.” 

“  I  own  to  you,”  said  the  queen,  “that  the  love  I  have  for  him 
is  so  great  that  no  heart  can  love  with  such  passion  as  mine.” 

“  Allow  me,  if  you  please,  to  tell  you,  madam,  that  you  have  not 
fathomed  the  love  in  every  heart.  I  dare  assure  you,  madam,  that 
there  is  one  who  loves  you  with  a  love  so  perfect  and  impassioned 
that  what  you  feel  for  the  king  cannot  be  compared  with  it.  His 
love  grows  stronger  as  that  of  the  king  grows  weaker,  and  it  only 
rests  with  yourself,  madam,  if  you  think  proper,  to  be  more  than 
compensated  for  all  you  lose.” 

By  this  time  the  queen  began  to  perceive,  both  from  the  gen¬ 
tleman’s  words  and  his  manner,  that  his  tongue  was  the  inter¬ 
preter  of  his  heart.  She  now  recollected  that  for  a  long  time  past 
he  had  been  seeking  opportunities  to  do  her  service,  and  seeking 
them  with  such  eagerness  that  he  had  become  quite  melancholy. 
At  first  she  had  supposed  that  his  wife  was  the  cause  of  his  sad¬ 
ness  ;  but  now  she  made  no  doubt  that  it  was  all  on  her  own  ac¬ 
count.  As  love  never  fails  to  make  itself  felt  when  it  is  real,  the 
queen  had  no  difficulty  in  unriddling  what  was  a  secret  for  every¬ 
one  else.  The  gentleman,  therefore,  appearing  to  her  more 
amiable  than  her  husband,  considering,  besides,  that  he  was  for¬ 
saken  by  his  wife,  as  she  was  by  her  husband,  and  animated  with 
resentment  and  jealousy  against  her  husband,  “  My  God  !  ”  she 
exclaimed  with  a  sigh,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  “must  it  be 
that  vengeance  shall  effect  upon  me  what  love  has  never  been 
able  to  effect  ?” 

“  Vengeance  is  sweet,  madam,”  observed  the  now  hopeful 
suitor,  “  when,  instead  of  killing  one’s  enemy,  one  bestows  life  on 
a  real  friend.  It  is  high  time,  methinks,  that  the  truth  should 
cure  you  of  an  unreasonable  love  you  entertain  for  a  person  who 
has  none  for  you  ;  and  that  a  just  and  well-founded  love  should 
expel  the  fear  which  is  very  ill-lodged  in  a  heart  so  great  and  so 
virtuous  as  yours.  Let  us  put  out  of  consideration,  madam,  your 
royal  quality,  and  let  us  contemplate  the  fact  that  you  and  I,  of 
all  persons  in  the  world,  are  the  two  who  are  most  basely  duped 
and  betrayed  by  those  whom  we  have  most  perfectly  loved.  Let 
us  avenge  ourselves,  madam,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  retalia¬ 
tion  as  for  the  satisfaction  of  love,  which  on  my  side  is  such  that 
I  could  not  bear  more  and  live.  If  your  heart  is  not  harder  than 
adamant,  you  must  feel  some  spark  of  that  fire  which  augments 
in  proportion  as  I  labour  to  conceal  it,  and  if  pity  for  me,  who  am 


2  4  The  Hepiajjicron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

dying  of  love  for  you,  does  not  incite  you  to  love  me,  at  least  you 
should  do  so  out  of  resentment.  Your  merit  is  so  great  that  it 
is  worthy  of  the  love  of  every  honest  heart  ;  yet  you  are  despised 
and  abandoned  by  him  for  whom  you  have  abandoned  all  others.” 

These  words  caused  the  queen  such  violent  transports  that,  in 
order  to  conceal  the  commotion  of  her  spirits,  she  took  the  gen¬ 
tleman’s  arm,  and  went  with  him  into  a  garden  adjoining  her 
chamber,  where  she  walked  up  and  down  a  long  while  without 
being  able  to  speak  a  single  word  to  him.  But  the  gentleman, 
seeing  her  half-conquered,  no  sooner  reached  the  end  of  an  alley 
where  no  one  could  see  them,  than  he  plied  her  to  good  purpose 
with  his  long-concealed  passion.  Being  both  of  one  mind,  they 
revenged  themselves  together  ;  and  it  was  arranged  between 
them  that  whenever  the  king  went  to  visit  the  gentleman’s  wife, 
the  gentleman  should  visit  the  queen.  Thus,  the  cheaters  being 
cheated,  four  would  share  the  pleasure  which  two  imagined  they 
had  all  to  themselves.  When  all  was  over,  the  queen  retired  to 
her  chamber,  and  the  gentleman  went  home,  both  of  them  so  well 
contented  that  they  thought  no  more  of  their  past  vexations. 
The  gentleman,  far  from  dreading  lest  the  king  should  visit  his 
wife,  on  the  contrary  desired  nothing  better  ;  and  to  afford  him 
opportunity  for  doing  so,  he  went  to  the  country  oftener  than  he 
had  been  used.  When  the  king  knew  that  the  gentleman  was  at 
his  village,  which  was  but  half  a  league  from  the  city,  he  went  at 
once  to  the  fair  lady;  whilst  the  gentleman  repaired  by  night  to 
the  queen’s  chamber,  where  he  did  duty  as  the  king’s  lieutenant 
so  secretly  that  no  one  perceived  it. 

Things  went  on  in  this  way  for  a  long  while  ;  but  whatever 
pains  the  king  took  to  conceal  his  amour,  all  the  world  was  aware 
of  it.  The  gentleman  was  much  pitied  by  all  good-natured  people, 
and  ridiculed  by  the  ill-natured,  who  used  to  make  horns  at  him 
behind  his  back.  He  knewvery  well  that  they  did  so,  and  he  laughed 
in  his  sleeve,  for  he  thought  his  horns  were  as  good  as  the  king’s 
crown.  One  day,  when  the  royal  gallant  was  at  the  gentleman’s, 
casting  his  eyes  on  a  pair  of  antlers  hung  up  in  the  hall,  he  could 
not  help  saying,  with  a  laugh,  in  the  presence  of  the  master  of 
the  house  himself,  “These  antlers  very  well  become  this  place.” 
The  gentleman,  who  had  as  much  spirit  as  the  king,  had  this  in¬ 
scription  put  up  beneath  the  antlers  after  the  king  was  gone  : 

Io  porto  le  corna,  ciascun  lo  vede  ; 

Ma  tal  le  porta,  chi  no  lo  crede. 

I  wear  the  horns  as' all  men  know  ; 

He  wears  them  too  who  thinks  not  so. 


Kovel  3^]  first  Day.  25 

On  his  next  visit  the  king  observed  this  inscription,  and  asked  the 
meaning  of  it.  “  If  the  stag,”  replied  the  gentleman,  “does  not 
know  the  king’s  secret,  it  is  not  just  that  the  king  should  know  the 
stag’s  secret.  Be  satisfied  with  knowing,  sire,  that  it  is  not  everyone 
who  wears  horns  who  has  his  cap  lifted  off  by  them;  some  horns 
are  so  soft  that  a  man  may  wear  them  without  knowing  it.” 

It  was  plain  to  the  king  from  this  reply  that  the  gentleman 
knew  something  of  his  own  affair,  but  he  never  suspected  either 
him  or  the  queen.  That  princess  played  her  part  extremely 
well  ;  for  the  more  pleased  she  was  with  her  husband’s  conduct, 
the  more  she  pretended  to  be  dissatisfied.  So  they  lived  as  good 
friends  on  both  sides  until  old  age  put  an  end  to  their  mutual 
pleasures.  This,  ladies,  is  a  story  which  I  have  great  pleasure 
in  proposing  to  you  by  way  of  example,  to  the  end  that  when 
your  husbands  give  you  horns  you  may  do  the  same  by  them.1* 

“  1  air.vei)  well  assured,  Saffredent,”  said  Ennasuite,  laughing, 
“that  if  you  were  as  much  in  love  as  you  have  formerly  been,  you 
would  endure  horns  as  big  as  oaks  for  the  sake  of  brstowing  a 
pair  as  you  pleased  ;  but  now  that  your  hair  is  beginning  to  turn 
grey,  it  is  time  to  put  a  truce  to  your  desires.” 

“  Though  she  whom  I  love,  mademoiselle,  allows  me  no  hope,” 
replied  Saffredent,  “and  age  has  exhausted  my  vigour,  my  desires 
remain  still  in  full  force.  But  since  you  reproach  me  with  so 
seemly  a  passion,  you  will,  if  you  please,  relate  to  us  the  fourth 
novel  ;  and  we  shall  see  if  you  can  find  some  example  which  may 
refute  me.”  - 

One  of  the  ladies  present,  who  knew  that  she  who  had  taken 
Saffredent’s  words  to  herself  was  not  the  person  he  loved  so  much 
as  to  be  willing  to  wear  horns  of  her  making,  could  not  help 
laughing  at  the  manner  in  which  she  had  taken  them  up.  Saffre¬ 
dent,  who  perceived  that  the  laughing  lady  had  guessed  right, 
was  very  glad  of  it,  and  let  Ennasuite  talk  on.  “To  prove, 
ladies,”  she  said,  “  to  Saffredent  and  all  the  company  that  all 
women  are  not  like  the  queen  of  whom  he  has  told  us,  and  that 

*  The  king  who  figures  in  this  novel,  it  is  thought,  is  Alfonso  V.,  King  of 
Aragon  and  Sicily,  who  supplanted  King  Ren£  on  the  throne  of  Naples  in 
1443,  and  remained  in  possession  of  it  until  his  death  in  1458.  He  married,  in 
1415,  Maria,  daughter  of  Henry  III.,  King  of  Castile,  and  lived  on  very  bad 
erms  with  that  princess,  who,  according  to  the  authors  of  /* Art  de  verifier  les 
Dates,  never  set  foot  in  Italy.  Queen  Mary,  who  was  married  in  1415.  must 
have  been  long  past  her  bloom  in  1443.  For  this  reason  the  Bibliophiles  Fran- 
£ais  are  inclined  to  believe  that  the  Queen  of  Navarre  has  here  related,  under 
borrowed  names,  a  true  story  of  her  own  times. 


2  6  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

the  audacious  are  not  always  successful,  I  will  relate  to  you  the 
adventure  of  a  lady  who  deemed  that  the  vexation  of  falling-  in 
love  was  harder  to  bear  than  death  itself.  I  shall  not  name  the 
persons,  because  the  story  is  so  recent  that  I  should  be  afraid  of 
offending  some  of  the  near  relations  if  I  did  so.” 


NOVEL  IV. 

Presumptuous  attempt  of  a  gentleman  upon  a  Princess  of  Flanders,  and  the 

shame  it  brought  upon  him. 

HERE  was  in  Flanders  a  lady  of  such  family  that  there 
was  none  better  in  the  country.  She  was  a  widow,  had 
been  twice  married,  but  had  no  children  living.  During 
her  second  widowhood  she  resided  with  her  brother,  who 
loved  her  much,  and  who  was  a  very  great  lord,  being  married 
to  one  of  the  king’s  daughters.  This  young  prince  was  much 
addicted  to  pleasure,  and  was  fond  of  the  chase,  amusements,  and 
the  ladies,  as  usual  with  young  people.  He  had  a  very  ill-tem¬ 
pered  wife,  who  was  by  no  means  well  pleased  with  her  husband’s 
diversions  ;  wherefore,  as  his  sister  was  the  most  lively  and 
cheerful  companion  possible,  she  accompanied  the  prince  to  every 
place  to  which  he  took  his  wife.  There  was  at  the  prince’s  court 
a  gentleman  who  surpassed  all  the  others  in  height,  figure,  and 
good  looks,  and  who,  seeing  that  his  master’s  sister  was  a  lively 
lady,  and  fond  of  laughing,  thought  he  would  try  if  a  well-bred 
lover  would  be  to  her  taste.  But  the  result  was  quite  contrary  to 
what  he  had  expected  ;  although  she  pardoned  his  audacity  in 
consideration  of  his  good  looks  and  good  breeding,  and  even  let 
him  know  that  she  was  not  angry  that  he  had  spoken  to  her,  only 
she  desired  that  she  might  never  hear  the  same  language  from 
him  again.  He  promised  this,  that  he  might  not  lose  the  honour 
and  pleasure  of  her  society,  but  as  his  passion  increased  with 
time,  he  forgot  his  promise.  He  did  not,  however,  have  recourse 
to  words,  for  experience  had  taught  him  that  she  knew  how  to 
make  chaste  replies  ;  but  he  flattered  himself  that  being  a  widow, 
young,  vigorous,  and  good-humoured,  she  would,  perhaps,  take  pity 
on  him  and  on  herself  if  he  could  find  her  in  a  convenient  place. 

To  this  end  he  acquainted  the  prince  that  he  had  a  house  ad¬ 
mirably  situated  for  the  chase,  and  that  if  he  would  come  thither 
and  hunt  three  or  four  stags  in  the  month  of  May,  he  would  have 
excellent  sport.  The  prince  promised  he  would  do  so,  and  he  kept 
his  word.  He  found  a  handsome  house  prepared  for  his  reception, 


f 

Novell  First  Day.  27 

in  the  best  order,  as  belonging  to  the  richest  nobleman  in  the 
country.  Its  owner  lodged  her  whom  he  loved  better  than  him¬ 
self  in  an  apartment  opposite  to  that  which  he  assigned  to  the 
prince  and  princess.  Her  bedroom  was  so  well  tapestried  above, 
and  so  well  matted  below,  that  it  was  impossible  to  perceive  a 
trap-door  he  had  contrived  in  the  alcove,  and  which  led  down 
into  the  room  occupied  by  his  aged  and  infirm  mother.  As  the 
good  old  lady  coughed  a  great  deal,  and  was  afraid  of  disturbing 
the  princess,  she  exchanged  bedrooms  with  her  son.  Not  an 
evening  passed  that  the  old  lady  did  not  carry  confections  to  the 
princess,  on  which  occasions  her  son  failed  not  to  accompany  her  ; 
and  as  he  was  much  liked  by  the  brother,  he  was  allowed  to  be 
present  at  the  sister’s  coucher  and  lever ,  when  he  always  found 
cause  for  the  increase  of  his  passion. 

(Jne  night  he  stayed  so  late  with  the  princess  that,  seeing  she 
was  falling  asleep,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  her  and  return  to  his 
own  chamber.  He  took  the  handsomest  and  best  perfumed  shirt 
he  bad,  and  a  nightcap  of  the  choicest  kind  ;  then,  looking  at 
himself  in  the  glass,  he  was  so  satisfied  with  his  own  appear¬ 
ance  that  he  thought  no  lady  could  possibly  withstand  his  good 
looks.  Promising  himself  marvels  therefore  from  his  enterprise, 
lie  lay  down  on  his  bed,  where  he  did  not  think  he  should  stay 
long,  for  he  expected  to  exchange  it  for  one  more  honourable. 

No  sooner  had  he  dismissed  his  attendants  than  he  rose  and 
locked  the  door,  and  listened  for  a  long  time  to  hear  whether 
there  was  any  noise  in  the  princess’s  chamber,  which,  as  already 
said,  was  above  his  own.  When  he  had  satisfied  himself  that 
all  was  quiet,  he  began  to  put  his  fine  project  in  execution,  and 
gradually  let  down  the  trap-door,  which  was  so  well  made  and 
so  well  covered  with  cloth  that  it  did  not  make  the  least  noise. 
Then  stealing  up  into  the  alcove  where  the  princess  was  fast 
asleep,  he  got  into  bed  to  her  without  ceremony,  regardless  of 
her  high  birth  and  the  obligations  he  was  under  to  her,  and 
without  having  in  the  first  instance  obtained  her  consent.  The 
first  intimation  she  had  of  his  arrival  was  to  find  herself  in  his 
arms  ;  but  being  a  strong  woman  she  broke  loose  from  his  grasp, 
and,  demanding  who  he  was,  made  such  good  use  of  her  hands 
and  nails  that  he  tried  to  stuff  the  quilt  into  her  mouth  for  fear 
she  should  cry  out.  But  he  never  could  accomplish  his  purpose, 
for  as  she  found  that  he  was  doing  his  best  to  dishonour  her, 
she  did  her  best  to  defend  herself,  and  called  out  to  her  lady  of 
honour,  an  aged  and  very  prudent  woman,  who  slept  in  the  same 
room,  and  she  hastened  in  her  shift  to  her  mistress’s  aid. 


28  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

The  gentleman,  finding  he  was  discovered,  was  so  much  afraid 
of  being  recognized  that  he  hurried  away  through  his  trap-door 
as  fast  as  he  could,  no  less  overcome  at  the  plight  in  which  he 
returned  from  his  enterprise  than  he  had  been  keen-set  and  con¬ 
fident  when  he  entered  upon  it.  The  candle  was  still  burning  on 
the  table  before  his  mirror,  which  showed  his  face  all  scratched 
and  bitten,  and  the  blood  streaming  from  it  over  his  fine 
shirt.  “Thou  are  rightly  served,  pernicious  beauty!”  he  said, 
apostrophising  his  own  lacerated  visage.  “  Thy  vain  promises 
set  upon  an  impossible  enterprise,  and  one  which,  far  from 
increasing  my  good  fortune,  will,  perhaps,  bring  upon  me  a 
world  of  trouble.  What  will  become  of  me  if  she  knows  that  I 
have  committed  this  folly  in  violation  of  my  promise  ?  The  least 
that  can  happen  to  me  w  11  be  to  be  banished  from  her  presence. 
Why  did  I  employ  fraud  to  steal  what  my  birth  and  my  good 
looks  might  have  obtained  for  me  by  lawful  ways?  Could  I 
expect  to  make  myself  master  of  her  heart  by  violence  ?  Ought 
I  not  to  have  waited  till  love  put  me  in  possession  of  it  in  recom¬ 
pense  for  my  patience  and  my  long  service  ?  For  without  love 
all  the  merits  and  power  of  man  are  nothing.” 

The  rest  of  the  night  was  spent  by  the  discomfited  gallant  in 
such  reflections  as  these,  mingled  with  tears,  groans,  and  wail¬ 
ings  indescribable.  In  the  morning  he  feigned  illness,  to  con¬ 
ceal  the  mangled  state  of  his  countenance,  pretending  all  the 
while  the  company  remained  in  the  house  that  he  could  not 
endure  the  light.  The  lady,  who  was  convinced  that  there  was 
no  one  at  the  court  capable  of  so  audacious  an  act  except  the 
man  who  had  the  boldness  to  declare  his  love  to  her,  searched 
the  chamber  with  the  lady  of  honour  ;  but  not  finding  a  passage 
through  which  anyone  could  have  entered,  she  broke  into  a 
towering  passion.  “  Be  assured,”  she  said  to  the  lady  of  honour, 
“  that  the  lord  of  this  mansion  is  the  man,  and  that  I  will  make 
such  a  report  to-morrow  morning  to  my  brother  that  the  culprit’s 
head  shall  bear  witness  to  my  chastity.” 

“  I  am  delighted,  madam,”  said  her  wary  attendant,  who  saw 
what  a  transport  of  rage  she  was  in — “  I  am  delighted  that 
honour  is  so  precious  in  your  eyes  that,  for  its  sal<e,  you  would 
not  spare  the  life  of  a  man  who  has  put  it  in  jeopardy  through 
excess  of  love.  But  in  this,  as  in  every  other  matter,  one  may 
fall  backwards  when  thinking  to  advance.  Therefore,  tell  me, 
madam,  the  plain  truth.  Has  he  had  anything  of  you  ?” 

“Nothing,  1  do  assure  you,”  replied  the  princess,  “  beside! 
scratches  and  cuffs  ;  and  unless  he  has  found  a  very  clevei 


f  V 

Novel  4.]  First  Day.  29 

surgeon,  I  am  sure  he  will  show  the  marks  of  them  to¬ 
morrow.” 

“That  being  the  case,  madam,  it  strikes  me  you  ought  rather 
to  praise  God  than  think  of  vengeance.  Since  he  has  had  the 
heart  to  make  such  an  attempt,  the  vexation  of  having  failed  in 
X  will  be  more  poignant  than  even  death  itself.  If  you  would 
be  avenged  on  him,  leave  him  to  his  love  and  to  his  shame, 
which  will  make  him  suffer  more  than  anything  you  can  do. 
Do  not  fall,  madam,  into  the  blunder  he  has  committed.  He 
promised  himself  the  sweetest  of  all  pleasures,  and  he  has  brought 
upon  himself  the  most  miserable  torment.  Profit  by  his  example, 
madam,  and  do  not  diminish  your  glory  in  thinking  to  augment 
it.  If  you  complain  of  the  adventure,  you  will  publish  what  is 
known  to  nobody  ;  for  you  may  be  sure  that  on  his  part  it  will 
remain  an  everlasting  secret.  Suppose  even  my  lord  your  brother 
does  you  the  justice  you  demand,  and  that  it  costs  the  poor 
gentleman  his  life,  people  will  say  that  he  has  had  his  will  of 
you  ;  and  most  people  will  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  he  would 
have  made  such  an  attempt  if  you  had  not  given  him  encourage¬ 
ment.  You  are  handsome,  young,  and  lively.  All  the  court 
knows  that  you  are  graciously  familiar  with  the  gentleman  you 
suspect  ;  and  so  everyone  will  conclude  that  he  only  made  this 
attempt  because  it  was  your  wish  that  he  should  do  so.  Your 
honour,  which  has  hitherto  sustained  no  blemish,  will  become  at 
least  questionable  wherever  this  story  is  told.” 

The  princess  yielded  to  the  force  of  these  judicious  repre¬ 
sentations,  and  asked  the  lady  of  honour  what  she  should  do. 
“Since  you  are  pleased  to  receive  my  counsel,  madam,”  replied 
the  lady,  “seeing  the  affection  from  which  it  proceeds,  I  must 
say  that,  in  my  opinion,  you  ought  to  be  heartily  rejoiced  that  the 
handsomest  and  best-bred  man  1  know  has  neither  by  fair  means 
nor  by  foul  been  able  to  make  you  swerve  from  the  path  of  virtue. 
For  this,  madam,  you  should  feel  bound  to  humble  yourself  before 
God,  and  acknowledge  that  it  is  His  work,  and  not  your  own. 
Many  a  woman,  indeed,  has  maintained  a  more  imposing  air  of 
gravity  than  you,  who  yet  has  yielded  to  a  man  less  worth  loving 
than  this  gentleman.  You  ought  to  be  more  on  your  guard  than 
ever  against  everything  in  the  shape  ot  soft  speeches,  and  bethink 
you  that  many  have  resisted  a  first  attack  who  have  yielded  to  a 
second.  Remember,  madam,  that  Love  is  blind,  and  that  he 
makes  people  blind,  so  that  they  think  they  have  nothing  to  fear 
when  they  are  most  in  danger.  It  is  my  opinion,  then,  madam, 
that  you  ought  not  to  tell  anyone  what  has  occurred  to  you.  and 


30  The  Hep  tamer  on  of  the  Qjueen  of  Navarre. 

that  even  if  he  should  think  of  speaking  to  you  on  the  subject, 
you  should  affect  not  to  understand  him.  Thereby,  you  will 
avoid  two  bad  things  :  one  is  vainglory  for  the  victory  you  have 
achieved;  the  other,  the  pleasure  you  might  take  in  remembering 
things  so  agreeable  to  the  flesh  ;  for  the  chastest  of  our  sex  can 
hardly  prevent  themselves,  strive  as  they  will,  from  feeling  some¬ 
thing  of  the  sort.  Furthermore,  madam,  that  he  may  not  believe 
that  what  he  has  done  accords  in  any  way  with  your  inclinations, 
I  advise  you  to  make  him  feel  his  folly  by  gradually  withdrawing 
something  of  that  friendly  countenance  you  have  been  used  to 
show  him.  He  will  also  feel  at  the  same  time  that  you  manifest 
great  goodness  of  heart  in  contenting  yourself  with  your  victory 
and  renouncing  vengeance.  God  grant  you  the  grace,  madam, 
to  persist  in  the  virtue  with  which  he  has  endowed  you,  and  to 
love  and  serve  him  better  than  you  have  hitherto  done,  knowing 
that  he  is  the  source  of  all  good  things.” 

The  princess  followed  her  lady  of  honour’s  sage  counsels,  and 
slept  calmly  through  the  rest  of  the  night,  whilst  the  gentleman 
lay  awake  in  bitter  anguish  of  spirit.  Next  day,  the  prince,  being 
about  to  take  his  departure,  asked  after  his  host,  and  was  told  he 
was  so  ill  he  could  not  bear  to  see  the  light  or  hear  anyone  speak. 
Surprised  at  this  sudden  malady,  the  prince  would  have  gone  to 
see  him,  but  hearing  that  he  was  asleep,  and  not  wishing  to 
disturb  him,  he  went  away  with  his  wife  and  sister  without 
bidding  him  farewell.  His  sister,  concluding  that  the  gentle¬ 
man’s  illness  was  only  a  pretence  to  avoid  showing  the  marks 
she  had  left  upon  his  face,  was  now  assured  beyond  all  doubt 
that  it  was  he  who  had  been  her  nightly  assailant.  The  prince 
repeatedly  sent  word  to  him  to  return  to  court,  but  he  did  not 
obey  until  he  had  been  thoroughly  cured  of  all  his  wounds, 
except  those  which  love  and  vexation  had  made  in  his  heart. 
On  his  return  to  court,  he  could  not  sustain  the  presence  of  his 
victorious  enemy  without  blushing.  Though  he  had  been  pos¬ 
sessed  of  more  assurance  than  any  man  at  court,  he  was  so 
disconcerted  that  he  often  appeared  before  her  quite  abashed — a 
new  proof  that  her  suspicions  were  well  founded.  She  btwke 
with  him,  therefore,  little  by  little.  Adroitly  as  she  did  this,  he 
failed  not  to  perceive  it,  but  durst  not  remonstrate  for  fear  of 
worse.  He  kept  his  love  concealed,  and  endured  patiently  a 
disgrace  he  had  well  merited.* 

*  The  princess  and  the  gallant  spoken  of  in  this  novel  are  none  other  than  the 
Queen  of  Navarre  herself  and  Guillaume  de  Bonnivet,  Admiral  of  France,  as 
we  are  informed  by  Brantome  ( Dames  Galantes,  Discours  iv.  t.  vii. ) .  He  states 


\ 

Novel  4.]  First  Day.  31 

There,  ladies,  is  a  story  which  should  strike  fear  into  those  who 
would  seize  what  does  not  belong-  to  them,  and  which  should 
inspire  ladies  with  courage,  considering  the  virtue  of  the  young 
princess  and  the  good  sense  of  her  lady  of  honour.  Should  a 
similar  thing  befall  one  of  you,  here  you  see  how  it  is  to  be 
remedied. 

“  To  my  thinking,”  said  Hircan,  “  the  tall  gentleman  you  have 
been  telling  us  of  had  such  a  faint  heart  that  he  did  not  deserve 
the  honour  of  having  his  adventure  talked  of.  Having  such  a 
fine  opportunity,  nothing  should  have  prevented  him  from  profit¬ 
ing  by  it.  His  love,  it  must  be  owned,  was  not  very  great,  since  the 
fear  of  death  and  of  shame  found  a  place  beside  it  in  his  heart.” 

“  And  what  could  the  poor  gentleman  have  done  against  two 
women  ?  ”  said  Nomerfide. 

“He  should  have  killed  the  old  one,”  replied  Hircan,  “and 
the  young  one,  seeing  herself  alone,  would  have  been  half  van¬ 
quished.” 

“Killed  I”  exclaimed  Nomerfide;  “you  would  turn  a  lover 
into  a  murderer  1  It  would  be  a  terrible  thing  to  fall  into  your 
hands,  I  see.” 

“If  I  had  pushed  matters  so  far,”  continued  Hircan,  “I 
should  think  myself  ruined  in  reputation  unless  I  went  the  whole 
way  to  the  end.” 

“  Do  you  think  it  matter  for  wonder,”  said  Geburon,  “that  a 
princess  trained  to  virtue  proves  too  much  for  one  man  ?  What 
would  you  say,  then,  to  one  woman  in  low  life  escaping  from  two 
men  ?  ” 

“  Geburon,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  I  call  upon  you  for  the  fifth 
novel.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  know  one  about  this  poor 
woman  which  will  not  be  displeasing  to  the  company.” 

“  Be  it.  so,  then,”  said  Geburon ;  “  I  will  tell  you  a  story  which 
I  know  to  be  true,  having  examined  into  it  on  the  spot.  You  will 
see  from  it  that  princesses  are  not  the  only  prudent  and  the  only 
virtuous  of  their  sex,  and  that  often  those  who  are  reputed  very 
amorous  and  very  sly  are  less  so  than  is  supposed.” 

the  fact  upon  the  authority  of  his  grandmother,  who,  as  well  as  his  mother, 
Anne  de  Vivonne,  was  about  Margaret’s  person,  and  it  is  generally  regarded  as 
true.  It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that  Margaret  has  purposely  introduced 
into  her  narrative  several  circumstances  calculated  to  disguise  her  own  identity: 
the  second  widowhood,  for  instance,  for  the  King  of  Navarre  survived  her,  and 
the  absence  of  children  by  both  marriages,  for  Margaret  had  a  surviving  daugh¬ 
ter  by  her  second  husband,  The  handsome  and  gallant  Bonnivet  figures  -r  * 
peatedly  in  the  Heptameron 


ja  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

NOVEL  V. 

A  boatwoman  escapes  from  two  Cordeliers,  who  wanted  to  force  her,  and  expos®* 

them  to  public  derision. 

HERE  was  in  the  port  of  Coulon,  near  Niort,  a  boat- 
woman,  who  did  nothing  day  and  night  but  convey 
people  from  point  to  point.  Two  Cordeliers  of  Niort 
crossed  the  river  alone  with  her.  As  it  is  one  of  the 
wildest  ferries  in  France,  they  took  it  into  their  heads  to  make 
love  to  her,  for  fear  she  should  grow  dull  by  the  way.  She  gave 
no  more  ear  to  them  than  they  deserved  ;  but  the  good  fathers, 
who  were  neither  fatigued  by  the  labour  of  the  passage,  nor 
chilled  by  the  coldness  of  the  water,  nor  abashed  by  the  woman’s 
refusal,  resolved  to  force  her,  or  throw  her  into  the  river  if  she 
was  refractory.  Rut  she  was  as  good  and  as  shrewd  as  they 
were  wicked  and  witless,  and  said  to  them,  “  I  am  not  so  ill- 
natured  as  you  might  suppose  ;  only  grant  me  two  things  I  have 
to  beg  of  you,  and  you  will  see  I  am  not  more  willing  to  satisfy 
you  than  you  are  to  be  satisfied.”  The  Cordeliers  swore  by  their 
good  St.  Francis  there  was  nothing  they  would  not  grant  her  to 
have  from  her  what  they  wanted.  “  Well,  then,”  said  she,  “  I 
ask  you,  in  the  first  place,  to  promise  and  vow  that  living  man 
shall  never  know  from  you  what  passes  between  us.”  This  they 
did  with  great  readiness.  "The  second  thing  I  ask  is,  that  you 
will  have  to  do  with  me  one  by  one,  for  I  should  be  too  much 
ashamed  if  it  was  done  in  presence  of  you  both.  Settle  between 
yourselves  which  is  to  have  me  first.”  The  Cordeliers  thought 
that  fair  enough,  and  the  younger  of  them  yielded  precedence  to 
the  elder. 

Running  the  boat  ashore  at  a  little  island,  she  said  to  the 
younger  one,  “  Say  your  prayers  there  whilst  your  comrade  and 
I  go  to  another  island.  If  he  is  satisfied  with  me  when  we 
come  back,  we  will  leave  him,  and  you  and  I  will  go  away 
together.”  The  younger  friar  jumped  ashore  at  once,  and  ihe 
boatwoman  rowed  away  with  his  companion  to  another  island. 
When  they  reached  it,  she  pretended  to  be  making  her  boat  Fist, 
whilst  she  said  to  the  monk,  ‘‘See  if  you  can  find  a  convenient 
spot.”  The  Cordelier,  like  a  booby,  stepped  out  of  the  boat  to 
do  as  she  told  him,  and  no  sooner  was  he  ashore  than,  setting 
her  foot  against  a  tree,  she  shot  the  boat  out  into  the  stream, 
and  left  the  two  good  fathers  in  the  lurch.  “  Wait  there,  my 
masters,”  said  she,  ‘‘till  God’s  angel  comes  to  console  you,  for 
you  will  get  nothing  trom  me.”  The  duped  Cordeliers  went 


Novel  2.]  first  Day .  33 

down  on  their  knees,  and  begged  her,  for  Heaven’s  sake,  not  to 
serve  them  so,  but  take  them  to  the  port,  upon  their  solemn  oath 
they  would  ask  nothing  of  her.  “  A  pretty  fool  I  should  be," 
she  replied,  still  rowing  away,  “to  put  myself  into  your  hands 
again  once  I  have  got  out  of  them." 

When  she  got  home  to  the  village,  she  told  her  husband  what 
had  occurred,  and  applied  to  the  ministers  of  justice  to  come  and 
capture  those  two  wolves  from  whose  fangs  she  had  contrived  to 
escaDe.  The  ministers  of  justice  set  out  for  the  purpose,  well 
accompanied,  for  there  was  no  one,  great  or  small,  but  was  bent 
on  taking  part  in  inis  hunt.  The  poor  friars,  seeing  such  a 
multitude  coming  after  them,  hid  themselves  each  on  his  island, 
as  Adam  did  from  the  sight  of  God  when  he  had  eaten  the 
apple.  Half  dead  with  shame  and  the  fear  of  punishment, 
they  were  caught  and  led  away  prisoners,  amid  the  jeers  and 
hootings  of  men  and  women,  “  These  good  fathers,"  said  one, 
‘‘ preach  chastity  to  us,  and  want  to  foul  our  wives."  “They 
dare  not  touch  money,”  said  the  husband,  “but  they  are  ready 
enough  to  handle  women’s  thighs,  which  are  far  more  danger¬ 
ous.”  “They  are  sepulchres,"  said  others,  “whitened  without, 
but  full  of  rottenness  within.”  “  By  their  fruits  you  shall  know 
the  nature  of  these  trees."  In  short,  all  the  passages  of 
Scripture  against  hypocrites  were  cast  in  the  teeth  of  the  poor 
prisoners.  At  last  the  warden  came  to  the  rescue.  They  were 
given  up  to  him  at  his  request,  upon  his  assuring  the  magistrate 
that  he  would  punish  them  more  severely  than  secular  justice 
itself  could  do,  and  that,  by  way  of  reparation  to  the  offended 
parties,  they  should  say  as  many  masses  and  prayers  as  might 
be  desired.  As  he  was  a  worthy  man,  they  were  chaptered  in 
such  a  manner  that  they  never  afterwards  passed  over  the  river 
without  crossing  themselves,  and  beseeching  God  to  keep  them 
out  of  all  temptation. 

If  this  boat  woman  had  the  wit  to  trick  two  such  bad  men, 
what  should  they  do  who  have  seen  and  read  of  so  many  fine 
examples  ?  If  women  who  know  nothing,  who  scarcely  hear 
two  good  sermons  in  a  year,  and  have  no  time  to  think  of  any¬ 
thing  but  earning  their  bread,  do  yet  carefully  guard  their 
chastity,  what  ought  not  others  of  their  sex  to  do  who.  having 
their  livelihood  secured,  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  read  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  hear  sermons,  and  exercise  themselves  in  all 
sorts  of  virtues?  This  is  the  test  by  which  it  is  known  that  the 
heart  is  truly  virtuous,  for  the  more  simple  and  unenlightened 
the  individual,  the  greater  are  the  works  of  God’s  spirit.  Un- 


J4  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

bappy  the  lady  who  does  not  carefully  preserve  the  treasure 
which  does  her  so  much  honour  when  well  kept,  and  so  much 
dishonour  when  she  keeps  it  ill ! 

“It  strikes  me,  Geburon,”  said  Longarine,  “that  it  does  not 
need  much  virtue  to  refuse  a  Cordelier.  On  the  contrary,  I 
should  rather  think  it  impossible  to  love  such  people.” 

“  Those  who  are  not  accustomed  to  have  such  lovers  as  you 
have,”  replied  Geburon,  “do  not  think  so  contemptuously  of 
Cordeliers.  They  are  well-made,  strapping  fellows,  can  talk 
like  angels,  and  are  for  the  most  part  importunate  as  devils. 
Accordingly,  the  grisettes  who  escape  out  of  their  hands  may 
fairly  be  called  virtuous.” 

“  O,  by  my  faith!”  exclaimed  Nomerfide,  raising  her  /oice, 
”  you  may  say  what  you  will,  but  for  my  part  I  would  rather  be 
flung  into  the  river  than  go  to  bed  with  a  Cordelier.” 

“  You  can  swim,  then,”  retorted  Oisille,  laughing. 

Nomerfide  was  piqued  at  this,  and  said,  with  warmth,  “There 
are  those  who  have  refused  better  men  than  Cordeliers,  without 
making  any  flourish  of  trumpets  about  it,  for  all  that.” 

“  Or  yet  beating  the  drum  about  what  they  have  done  and 
granted,”  rejoined  Oisille,  who  laughed  to  see  her  vexed. 

“I  perceive  that  Nomerfide  has  a  mind  to  speak,”  said 
Geburon,  “and  I  give  my  voice  in  her  favour,  that  she  may 
unburden  her  heart  upon  some  good  novel.” 

“The  remarks  which  have  just  been  made,”  said  Nomerfide, 
“  concern  me  so  little  that  they  can  give  me  neither  pain  nor 
pleasure.  But  as  I  have  your  voice,  I  beg  you  to  hear  mine, 
while  I  show  you  that,  if  one  is  sly  for  a  good  purpose,  others 
are  so  for  a  bad  one.  We  are  vowed  to  speak  the  truth,  and 
therefore  I  will  not  conceal  it ;  for  just  as  the  boatwoman’s  virtue 
is  no  honour  to  other  women  if  they  do  not  resemble  her  in  it, 
so  the  vice  of  another  cannot  dishonour  them.  Listen,  then.” 


NOVEL  VI. 

Stratagem  by  which  a  woman  enabled  her  gallant  to  escape,  when  her  husband, 
who  was  blind  of  an  eye,  thought  to  surprise  them  together. 

HARLES,  the  last  Duke  of  Alen^on,  had  an  old  valet-de- 
chambre  who  was  blind  of  an  eye,  and  who  was  married 
to  a  woman  much  younger  than  himself.  The  duke  and 
duchess  liked  this  valet  better  than  any  other  domestic  of 
that  order  in  their  household,  and  the  consequence  was  that  he 


/ 


Novel  6.)  First  Day.  35 

could  not  go  and  see  his  wife  as  often  as  he  could  have  wished, 
whilst  she,  unable  to  accommodate  herself  to  circumstances,  so  far 
forgot  her  honour  and  her  conscience  as  to  fall  in  love  with  a  young 
gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood.  At  last  the  affair  got  wind, 
and  there  was  so  much  talk  about  it  that  it  reached  the  ears  of 
the  husband,  who  could  not  believe  it,  so  warm  was  the  affection 
testified  to  him  by  his  wife.  One  day,  however,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  know  the  truth  of  the  matter,  and  to  revenge  himself,  if 
he  could,  on  the  person  who  put  this  affront  upon  him.  With 
this  view,  he  pretended  tc  go  for  two  or  three  days  to  a  place  at 
some  little  distance  ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  taken  his  departure 
than  his  wife  sent  for  her  gallant.  They  had  hardly  been  half 
an  hour  together,  when  the  husband  came  and  knocked  loudly  at 
the  door.  The  wife,  knowing  but  too  well  who  it  was,  told  her 
lover,  who  was  so  astounded  that  he  could  have  wished  he  was 
still  in  his  mother’s  womb.  But  while  he  was  swearing,  and 
confounding  her  and  the  intrigue  which  had  brought  him  into 
such  a  perilous  scrape,  she  told  him  not  to  be  uneasy,  for  she 
would  get  him  off  without  its  costing  him  anything  ;  and  that  all 
He  had  to  do  was  to  dress  himself  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Meanwhile,  the  husband  kept  knocking,  and  calling  to  his  wife 
as  loud  as  he  could  bawl,  but  she  pretended  not  to  know  him. 
“Why  don’t  you  get  up,”  she  cried  to  the  people  of  the  house, 
“and  go  and  silence  those  who  are  making  such  a  noise  at  the 
door?  Is  this  a  proper  time  to  come  to  honest  people’s  houses? 
If  my  husband  was  here  he  would  make  you  know  better.”  The 
husband,  hearing  her  voice,  shouted  louder  than  ever  :  “  Let  me 
in,  wife;  do  you  mean  to  keep  me  at  the  door  till  daylight?” 
At  last,  when  she  saw  that  her  lover  was  ready  to  slip  out,  “Oh, 
is  that  you,  husband?”  she  said  ;  “  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come  ! 
I  was  full  of  a  dream  I  had  that  gave  me  the  greatest  pleasure  I 
ever  felt  in  my  life,  I  thought  you  had  recovered  the  sight  of 
your  eye.”  Here  she  opened  the  door,  and  catching  her  husband 
round  the  neck,  kissed  him,  clapped  one  hand  on  his  sound  eye, 
and  asked  him  if  he  did  not  see  better  than  usual.  Whilst  the 
husband  was  thus  blindfolded  the  gallant  made  his  escape.  The 
husband  guessed  how  it  was,  but  said,  “  I  will  watch  you  no 
more,  wife.  I  thought  to  deceive  you,  but  it  is  I  who  have  been 
the  dupe,  and  you  have  put  the  cunningest  trick  upon  me  that 
ever  was  invented.  God  mend  you  !  for  it  passes  the  act  of  man 
to  bring  back  a  wicked  woman  from  her  evil  ways  by  any  means 
short  of  putting  her  to  death.  But  since  the  regard  I  have  had  for 
you  has  notavailed  to  make  you  behave  better,  perhaps  the  contempt 


36  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

with  Which  I  shall  henceforth  look  upon  you  will  touch  you  more, 
and  have  a  more  wholesome  effect.”  Therefore  he  went  away, 
Seaving  her  in  great  confusion.  At  last,  however,  he  was  pre¬ 
vailed  upon,  by  the  solicitations  of  relations  and  friends,  and  by 
the  tears  and  excuses  of  his  wife,  to  cohabit  with  her  again.* 

You  see  from  this  example,  ladies,  with  what  adroitness  a 
woman  can  get  herself  out  of  a  scrape.  If  she  is  prompt  at 
finding  an  expedient  to  conceal  a  bad  deed,  I  believe  she  would 
be  still  more  prompt  and  ingenious  in  discovering  means  to 
hinder  herself  from  doing  a  good  one  ;  for,  as  I  have  heard  say, 
good  wit  is  always  the  stronger. 

“You  may  boast  of  your  cunning  as  much  as  you  will,”  said 
Hircan,  “but  I  believe,  if  the  same  thing  had  happened  to  you, 
you  could  not  have  concealed  it.” 

“  I  would  as  soon  you  told  me  flatly,”. said  Nomerfide,  “  that 
I  am  the  most  stupid  woman  in  the  world.” 

“  I  do  not  say  that,”  replied  Hircan  ;  “but  I  look  upon  you  as 
mote  likely  to  be  alarmed  at  a  rumour  against  you  than  to  find 
an  ingenious  way  of  putting  an  end  to  it.” 

“  You  think  that  everyone  is  like  yourself,  who  to  get  rid 
of  one  rumour  set  another  afloat.  You  pass  for  a  very  cunning 
man,  but  if  you  think  that  you  surpass  woman  in  that  way,  I 
wdl  give  up  my  turn  to  you,  that  you  may  tell  us  some  story  in 
point.  Of  course  you  know  plenty,  of  which  you  are  yourself 
the  hero.” 

‘‘  1  am  not  here  to  make  myself  appear  worse  than  I  am," 
returned  Hircan,  “though  there  are  some  who  give  me  a  worse 
character  than  I  desire  or  deserve,”  he  added,  looking  at  his 
wife. 

“  Don’t  let  me  hinder  you  from  speaking  the  truth,”  said  she. 
"  I  would  rather  hear  you  relate  your  sly  tricks  than  see  you 
play  them.  But  be  assured  that  nothing  can  diminish  the  love 
I  have  for  you.” 

“  For  that  reason,”  said  Hircan,  “  I  do  not  complain  of  the 
injustice  with  which  you  often  judge  me.  And  so,  since  we 
understand  each  other,  there  will  be  so  much  the  more  peace 
and  quiet  for  the  future.  But  I  am  not  the  man  to  tell  a  story 

*  Although  Margaret  asserts  that  this  is  a  true  story,  and  that  the  actors  in 
it  belonged  to  the  household  of  her  first  husband,  it  is  to  be  found  in  many  pre¬ 
vious  collections  ;  as,  for  instance,  the  Cent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles ,  where  it  occurs 
as  the  sixteenth  novel,  entitled  Le  Borgne  Aveugle.  It  is  the  sixth  fable  of  th« 
first  book  ot  the  Pantcha  Tantra,  a  collection  of  Hindoo  stories. 


/ 


t 

Novel  7.]  First  Day.  37 

of  myself,  the  truth  of  which  may  be  displeasing  to  you,  but 
shall  relate  one  of  a  person  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of 
mine.” 


NOVEL  VII. 

Trick  put  by  a  mercer  of  Paris  upon  an  old  woman,  to  conceal  .is  ir»2rgue  with 

her  daughter. 

HERE  was  a  mercer  in  Paris  who  was  enamoured  of  a 
girl  in  his  neighbourhood,  or,  to  speak  more  properly, 
who  was  loved  by  her,  rather  than  she  by  him,  for  he 
only  pretended  to  be  attached  to  her  in  order  to  conceal 
another  amour  with  a  more  exalted  object.  For  her  part,  she 
was  very  willing  to  be  deceived,  and  loved  him  so  much  that  she 
forgot  all  the  usual  coyness  of  her  sex.  After  the  mercer  had 
long  taken  the  trouble  of  going  in  search  of  her,  he  used  after¬ 
wards  to  make  her  come  to  him  wherever  he  pleased.  The 
mother,  who  was  a  respectable  woman,  perceived  this,  and 
forbade  her  daughter  ever  to  speak  to  the  mercer,  under  pain  of 
being  sent  to  a  convent  ;  but  the  girl,  who  loved  the  mercer 
more  than  she  feared  her  mother,  bthaved  worse  than  ever. 
One  day  the  mercer,  finding  her  alone  in  a  convenient  place,  began 
to  entertain  her  on  matters  that  ought  not  to  be  discussed  before 
witnesses  ;  but  a  servant,  who  had  seen  him  come  in,  ran  and 
told  the  mother,  who  hastened  to  the  spot  to  put  an  end  to  the 
conversation.  The  daughter,  hearing  her  footsteps,  said,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  “  My  love  for  you  will  cost  me  dear ;  here 
comes  my  mother,  and  she  will  now  be  convinced  of  what  she 
always  feared.”  The  mercer,  without  losing  his  presence  of  mind, 
ii  stantly  quitted  the  girl,  ran  to  meet  her  mother,  threw  his  arms 
round  the  old  woman’s  neck,  hugged  her  with  all  his  might, 
threw  her  on  a  little  bed,  and  began  to  expand  upon  her  all  the 
rage  her  daughter  had  excited  within  him.  The  poor  old  woman, 
quite  confounded  at  being  treated  in  this  way,  could  only 
exclaim,  “What  are  you  about?  Are  you  mad?”  But  he  no 
more  desisted  than  if  she  had  been  the  handsomest  young  gin 
in  the  world  ;  and  if  her  screams  had  not  brought  the  servant 
men  and  maids  to  her  assistance,  she  would  have  suffered  the 
fate  she  apprehended  so  much  for  her  daughter.  The  servants 
dragged  the  good  woman  by  force  out  of  the  mercers  hands, 
without  the  poor  creature  ever  knowing  why  she  had  been 
so  worried.  During  the  scuffle,  the  daughter  esciped  to  a 
neighbour’s  house,  where  there  was  a  wedding  going  on  ;  and 


3  '  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

she  and  the  mercer  often  afterwards  laughed  at  the  expense  of 
the  old  woman,  who  never  detected  their  intercourse. 

Here  you  have,  ladies,  an  instance  of  a  man  having  been  cun¬ 
ning  enough  to  deceive  an  old  woman,  and  save  the  honour  of  a 
young  one.  If  I  were  to  name  the  persons,  or  if  you  had  seen  the 
countenance  of  the  mercer  and  the  surprise  of  the  old  woman,  you 
must  have  had  very  tender  consciences  to  keep  from  laughing. 
I  have  sufficiently  proved  to  you  by  this  example  that  men  are  not 
less  ingenious  than  women  in  inventing  at  need  expedients  upon 
the  spot;  and  so,  ladies,  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  falling  into 
their  hands,  for,  should  your  own  wit  fail,  you  will  find  theirs 
ready  to  screen  your  honour. 

“I  own,  Hircan,”  said  Longarine,  “that  the  story  is  comical 
and  the  stratagem  well  invented  ;  but,  for  all  that,  it  does  not 
follow  that  the  example  is  one  which  ought  to  be  imitated  by 
girls.  I  have  no  doubt  there  are  plenty  whom  you  would  wish 
to  approve  of  it ;  but  you  have  too  much  sense  to  wish  that  your 
wife  and  your  daughter,  whose  honour  is  dearer  to  you  than 
pleasure,  should  play  at  such  a  game.  I  believe  there  is  no  one 
who  would  watch  them  more  closely,  and  put  a  stop  to  such 
doings  more  promptly,  than  yourself.” 

“  Upon  my  conscience,”  replied  Hircan,  “if  my  wife  had  done 
the  same  thing,  I  should  not  esteem  her  the  less,  provided  I  knew 
nothing  about  it.  I  don’t  know  if  some  one  has  not  played  as 
good  a  trick  at  my  expense,  but,  fortunately,  as  I  know  nothing, 
I  give  myself  no  concern.” 

“  The  wicked  are  always  suspicious,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “but 
happy  are  they  who  give  no  cause  for  suspicion.” 

“  I  can’t  say  I  ever  saw  a  fire  without  some  smoke,”  said  Lon¬ 
garine  ;  “  but  I  have  certainly  seen  smoke  without  any  fire. 
Those  who  have  bad  hearts  suspect  alike  where  there  is  mischief 
and  where  there  is  none.” 

“  You  have  so  well  supported  the  cause  of  ladies  unjustly  sus¬ 
pected,”  said  Hircan  to  Longarine,  “that  I  call  upon  you  for 
your  novel.  I  hope  you  will  not  make  us  weep,  as  Madame 
Oisille  has  done,  by  too  much  praise  of  honest  women.” 

“  Since  you  would  have  me  make  you  laugh,”  said  Longarine, 
laughing  with  all  her  heart,  “it  shall  not  be  at  the  expense  of  our 
sex.  I  will  let  you  see  how  easy  it  is  to  cheat  jealous  wives 
who  think  they  are  wise  enough  to  cheat  their  husbands.” 


Novel  8.] 


First  Day.  39 

NOVEL  VIII. 

A  man  having  lain  with  his  wife,  believing  that  he  was  in  bed  with  his  servant, 
sends  his  friend  to  do  the  same  thing  ;  and  the  friend  makes  a  cuckold  oi 
him,  without  the  wife  being  aware  of  it. 

HERE  was  in  the  county  of  Allez  a  person  named  Bornet, 
who  had  married  a  virtuous  wife,  and  held  her  honour 
and  reputation  dear,  as  is  the  case,  I  suppose,  with  all 
the  husbands  here  present.  Though  he  desired  that  his 
wife  should  be  faithful  to  him,  he  did  not  choose  to  be  equally 
bound  to  her  ;  in  fact,  he  made  love  to  his  servant,  though  all 
the  good  he  could  get  by  the  change  was  the  pleasure  attending 
a  diversity  of  viands.  He  had  a  neighbour,  much  of  his  own 
sort,  named  Sandras,  a  tailor  by  trade,  with  whom  he  was  on 
terms  of  such  close  friendship  that  everything  was  common  be¬ 
tween  them,  except  the  wife.  Accordingly,  Bornet  declared  the 
design  he  had  formed  upon  the  servant-girl  to  his  friend,  who  not 
only  approved  of  it,  but  did  what  he  could  for  its  success,  it? 
hopes  of  having  a  finger  in  the  pie.  But  the  servant  would  not 
hear  of  such  a  thing,  and  finding  herself  persecuted  on  all  sides, 
she  complained  to  her  mistress,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go 
home  to  her  relations,  as  she  could  no  longer  endure  her  master’s 
importunity.  The  mistress,  who  was  very  fond  of  her  husband^ 
and  who  even  before  this  had  been  jealous  of  him,  was  very  glad 
to  have  this  opportunity  of  reproaching  him,  and  showing  that  it 
was  not  without  reason  she  had  suspected  him.  With  this  view 
she  induced  the  servant  to  finesse  with  her  master,  give  him  hopes 
by  degrees,  and  finally  promise  to  let  him  come  to  bed  to  her  in 
her  mistress’s  wardrobe.  “  The  rest  you  may  leave  to  me,”  she 
said.  “  I  will  take  care  that  you  shall  not  be  troubled  at  all,  pro¬ 
vided  you  let  me  know  the  night  he  is  to  come  to  you,  and  that 
you  do  not  breathe  a  syllable  of  the  matter  to  anyone  living.” 

The  girl  faithfully  obeyed  her  mistress’s  instructions,  and  her 
master  was  so  delighted  that  he  hastened  at  once  to  impart  this 
good  iO  his  friend,  who  begged  that,  since  he  had  been  con¬ 

cerned  u*  the  bargain,  he  should  also  partake  of  the  pleasure. 
This  being  agreed  tc,  »•  t  the  hour  being  come,  the  master  went 
to  bed,  as  he  supposed,  with  the  servant  ;  but  the  mistress  had 
taken  her  place,  and  received  him,  not  as  a  wife,  but  as  a  bashful 
and  frightened  maid,  and  she  played  her  part  so  well  that  he 
never  suspected  anything.  I  cannot  tell  you  which  of  the  two 
felt  the  greater  satisfaction,  he  in  the  belief  that  he  was  cheating 
his  wife,  or  she  in  the  belief  that  she  was  cheating  her  husband 


40 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

After  he  had  remained  with  her  not  so  long  as  he  wished,  but 
as  long  as  he  could,  for  he  showed  symptoms  of  an  old  married 
man,  he  went  out  of  doors  to  his  friend,  who  was  younger  and 
more  vigorous,  and  told  him  what  a  fine  treat  he  had  just  had. 
“You  know  what  you  promised  me,”  said  the  friend.  “Well, 
be  quick  then,”  said  the  master,  “  for  fear  she  gets  up,  or  my 
wife  wants  her.”  The  friend  lost  no  time,  but  took  the  unoccu¬ 
pied  place  beside  the  supposed  servant,  who,  thinking  he  was 
her  husband,  let  him  do  whatever  he  liked,  without  a  word  said  on 
either  side.  He  made  a  much  longer  business  of  it  than  the  hus¬ 
band,  greatly  to  the  surprise  of  the  wife,  who  was  not  accustomed 
to  be  so  well  regaled.  However,  she  took  it  all  patiently,  comfort¬ 
ing  herself  with  the  thought  of  what  she  would  say  to  him  in  the 
morning,  and  how  she  would  make  game  of  him.  The  friend 
got  out  of  bed  towards  daybreak,  but  not  without  taking  the 
stirrup-cup.  During  this  ceremony  he  drew  from  her  finder  the 
ring  with  which  her  husband  had  wedded  her,  a  thing  which  the 
women  of  that  country  preserve  with  great  superstition,  thinking 
highly  of  a  woman  who  keeps  it  till  death  :  on  the  other  hand, 
one  who  has  had  the  mischance  to  lose  it  is  looked  upon  as 
having  given  her  faith  to  another  than  her  husband. 

When  the  friend  had  rejoined  the  husband,  the  latter  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  his  bedfellow.  “  Never  was  a  better,” 
replied  the  friend  ;  “  and  if  I  had  not  been  afraid  of  being  sur¬ 
prised  by  daylight,  I  should  not  have  come  away  from  her  so 
soon.”  That  said,  they  went  to  bed,  and  slept  as  quietly  as  they 
could.  In  the  morning,  when  they  were  dressing,  the  husband 
perceived  on  his  friend’s  finger  the  ring,  which  looked  very  like 
that  he  had  given  his  wife  when  he  married  her.  He  asked  who 
had  given  him  that  ring,  and  was  astounded  to  hear  that  he  had 
taken  it  from  the  servant’s  finger.  “  Oh  Lord  !  have  I  made  a 
cuckold  of  myself,  without  my  wife’s  knowing  it?”  cried  the 
husband,  knocking  his  head  against  the  wall.  The  friend  sug. 
gested  for  his  consolation  that  possibly  his  wife  might  have  given 
the  ring  overnight  to  the  servant  to  keep. 

Home  goes  the  husband,  and  finds  his  wife  looking  handsomer 
and  gayer  than  usual,  delighted  as  she  was  to  have  hindered  her 
servant  from  committing  a  sin,  and  to  have  convicted  her  husband 
without  any  more  inconvenience  to  herself  than  having  passed  a 
night  without  sleeping.  The  husband,  seeing  her  in  such  good 
spirits,  said  to  himself,  “  She  would  not  look  so  merry  if  she 
knew  what  has  happened.”  Falling  into  chat  with  her  upon 
indifferent  matters,  he  took  her  hand,  and  saw  that  the  ring  she 


Novel  8.]  First  Day .  4b 

always  wore  was  not  on  her  finger.  Aghast,  and  with  a  trembling 
voice,  he  asked  her  what  she  had  done  with  it.  This  gave  her 
the  opportunity  she  was  on  the  watch  for  to  let  loose  upon  him, 
and  she  seized  it  with  avidity. 

‘Oh,  you  most  abominable  of  men  !  ”  she  said,  “from  whom 
do  you  suppose  you  took  it?  You  thought  you  had  it  from  the 
servant.  You  thought  it  was  lor  her  you  did  more  than  you 
ever  did  forme.  The  first  time  you  came  to  bed  to  her,  I  thought 
you  made  as  much  of  her  as  it  was  possible  to  do  ;  but  after  you 
left  the  room  and  came  again  the  second  time,  it  seemed  as 
though  you  were  the  very  devil  of  incontinence.  What  infatua¬ 
tion  has  possessed  you  to  praise  me  so  much,  you  wretch  ?  You 
have  had  me  long  enough,  and  never  cared  about  me.  Is  it  the 
beauty  and  plumpness  of  your  servant  that  made  the  pleasure 
seem  so  sweet  to  you  ?  No,  base  man,  it  is  the  fire  of  your  own 
disorderly  lust  that  makes  you  so  blindly  and  madly  in  love  with 
the  servant,  that  in  the  furious  fit  you  were  in  1  believe  you  would 
have  taken  a  she-goat  with  a  nightcap  on  for  a  fine  girl.  It  is 
high  time,  husband,  that  you  should  mend  your  ways,  and  con¬ 
tent  yourself  with  me,  who  am  your  wife,  and,  as  you  know,  an 
honest  woman,  as  much  as  you  did  when  you  mistook  me  for  a 
vicious  woman.  My  only  object  in  the  matter  has  been  to  with¬ 
draw  you  from  vice,  so  that  in  our  old  days  we  may  live  in  amity 
and  repose  of  conscience  ;  for  if  you  choose  to  continue  the  life 
you  have  led  hitherto,  1  would  rather  we  should  separate  than 
that  I  should  see  you  daily  treading  the  path  that  leads  to  hell, 
and  at  the  same  time  using  up  your  body  and  your  substance. 
But  if  you  resolve  to  behave  better,  and  to  fear  God  and  keep 
his  commandments,  I  am  willing  to  forget  the  past,  as  I  trust 
God  will  forgive  the  ingratitude  I  am  guilty  of  in  not  loving 
him  as  much  as  I  ought.” 

11  ever  a  man  was  utterly  confounded  and  horrified,  it  was 
the  poor  husband.  It  was  bad  enough  to  think  that  he  had 
forsaken  his  wife,  who  was  fair,  chaste,  and  virtuous,  and  over¬ 
flowing  with  affection  for  him,  for  a  woman  who  did  not 
love  him  ;  but  it  was  infinitely  worse  when  he  represented  to 
himself  that  he  had  been  so  unlucky  as  to  make  her  quit 
the  path  of  virtue,  in  spite  of  herself  and  without  knowing  it, 
to  share  with  another  the  pleasures  which  should  have  been  his 
alone,  and  to  have  forged  for  himself  the  horns  of  perpetual 
mockery.  Seeing,  however,  that  his  wife  was  already  angry 
enough  about  his  intended  intrigue  with  the  servant,  he  did 
not  dare  to  tell  her  of  the  villainous  trick  he  had  played  upon 


42  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

herself.  He  implored  her  pardon,  promised  to  make  amends  for 
the  past  by  the  strictest  propriety  of  conduct  in  future,  and  gave 
her  back  her  ring,  which  he  had  taken  from  his  friend,  whom 
he  begged  no*,  to  say  a  word  of  what  had  happened.  But  as 
everything  whispered  in  the  ear  is  by-and-by  proclaimed  from 
the  house-top,  the  adventure  became  public  at  last,  and  people 
called  him  a  cuckold,  without  any  regard  for  his  wife’s  feelings.* 

It  strikes  me,  ladies,  that  if  all  those  who  have  been  guilty 
of  similar  infidelity  to  their  wives  were  punished  in  the  same 
way,  Hircan  and  Saffredent  would  have  great  cause  to  fear. 

‘‘  Why,  Longarine  ?  ”  said  Saffredent.  “  Are  Hircan  and  I  the 
only  married  men  in  the  company  ?  ” 

“You  are  not  the  only  married  men,”  she  replied,  “but  you 
are  the  only  ones  capable  of  playing  such  a  trick.” 

“  Who  told  you,”  returned  Saffredent,  “  that  we  have  sought 
to  debauch  our  wives’  servant-maids  ?” 

“  If  those  who  are  interested  in  the  matter,”  she  answered, 
“  were  to  speak  the  truth,  we  should  certainly  hear  of  servant- 
maids  dismissed  before  their  time.” 

“This  is  pleasant,  truly,”  observed  Geburon;  “you  promised 
to  make  the  company  laugh,  and  instead  of  that  you  vex  these 
gentlemen.” 

“  It  comes  to  the  same  thing,”  replied  Longarine.  “  Provided 
they  do  not  draw  their  swords,  their  anger  will  not  fail  to 
make  us  laugh.” 

“  If  our  wives  were  to  listen  to  this  lady,”  said  Hircan, 
“  there  is  not  a  married  couple  in  the  company  but  she  would 
set  at  variance.” 

“  Nay,”  said  Longarine,  “  I  know  before  whom  I  speak. 
Your  wives  are  so  prudent,  and  love  you  so  much,  that  though 
you  were  to  make  them  bear  horns  as  big  as  those  of  a  deer, 
they  would  believe,  and  try  to  make  others  believe,  that  they 
were  chaplets  of  roses.” 

The  whole  company,  including  even  the  ladies  concerned, 
laughed  so  heartily  that  the  conversation  would  have  ended  there, 
if  Dagoucin,  who  had  not  yet  spoken,  had  not  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  say,  “A  man  is  surely  very  unreasonable  who  cannot 
content  himself  when  he  has  the  means.  I  have  often  known 
people  who,  thinking  to  better  themselves,  only  made  themselves 

*  This  tale  is  taken  from  the  fabliau  of  I.e  M curlier  cf  A  lens,  and  also 
occurs  in  the  facetiae  of  Poggio,  in  Sacchetti,  aud  in  the  Cent  Nouvellei 
Nouvellts. 


Novel  8.]  First  Day .  43 

much  worse  off,  because  they  could  not  be  satisfied  in  reason.  * 
Such  people  deserve  no  pity  ;  for,  after  all,  inconstancy  is  unpar¬ 
donable." 

“  But  what  would  you  do,”  inquired  Simontault,  “  with  those 
who  have  not  found  their  true  half?  Would  you  call  it  incon¬ 
stancy  on  their  part  to  seek  it  wherever  it  might  be  found  ?” 

“As  it  is  impossible  to  know,"  replied  Dagoucin,  “  where  is 
that  half  so  exactly  like  its  counterpart  that  there  is  no  difference 
between  them,  one  should  hold  fast  where  love  has  once 
attached  him,  and  change  neither  in  heart  nor  will,  happen  what 
may.  For  if  she  you  love  is  like  you,  and  has  but  one  will  with 
you,  it  is  yourself  you  will  love,  and  not  her." 

“You  will  fall  into  a  false  opinion,  Dagoucin,"  said  Hircan, 

44  as  though  we  ought  to  love  our  wives  without  being  loved.” 

“When  one  loves  a  woman,  Hircan,”  said  Dagoucin,  “only 
because  she  hah  beauty,  charming  manners,  and  fortune,  and  the 
end  he  proposes  to  himself  is  pleasure,  honours,  or  riches,  such  a 
love  is  not  of  long  duration  ;  for  when  the  principle  that  inspired 
it  ceases,  the  love  itself  vanishes  at  once.  I  am  then  convinced 
that  he  who  loves,  and  has  no  other  end  and  desire  than  to  love 
well,  will  die  rather  than  cease  to  love." 

“  In  good  faith,  Dagoucin,"  said  Simontault,  “  I  do  not  believe 
you  have  ever  been  really  in  love.  Had  you  known  what  it  is  to 
be  so,  like  other  men,  you  would  not  now  be  picturing  to  us  Plato’s 
Republic,  founded  on  fine  phrases,  and  on  little  or  no  experience." 

“You  are  mistaken,"  replied  Dagoucin.  “  I  have  been  in  love  ; 

1  am  so  still,  and  shall  be  so  as  long  as  I  live.  But  I  am  so 
much  afraid  that  the  demonstration  of  my  passion  would  do  in¬ 
justice  to  the  perfection  of  my  love,  that  I  shrink  ftom  making  it 
known  to  her  by  whom  I  would  be  loved  in  equal  measure.  I 
dare  not  even  think  how  I  love  her,  lest  my  eyes  should  betray  the 
secret  of  my  heart  ;  for  the  more  I  conceal  my  flame,  the  more 
pleasure  I  feel  in  the  consciousness  that  I  love  perfectly." 

“  Yet  I  suppose  you  would  be  very  glad  to  be  loved  in  return  ?" 
said  Gcburon. 

44 1  own  I  should  ;  but  as  nothing  could  diminish  my  love, 
though  I  love  much  and  am  not  loved,  so  it  could  not  be 
augmented,  even  were  I  loved  as  much  as  I  love.” 

‘‘Take  care,  Dagoucin,”  said  Parlamente,  who  disapproved  of 
this  fantastic  sentiment.  “  l  have  known  others  who  chose  rather 
to  die  than  to  declare  themselves.” 

44  And  they  were  happy,  doubtless,”  returned  Dagoucin. 

44  Yes,"  retorted  Saffredent,  44  and  worthy,  moreover  ot  being 


44  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Nav arte. 

classed  with  those  innocents  for  whom  the  Church  chants  Non 
loquendo ,  sed  moriendo  confessi  sunt.  1  have  heard  much  of  these 
languishing  lovers,  but  I  never  yet  saw  one  of  them  die  for  love. 
Since  I  myself  have  recovered,  after  much  tribulation,  I  do  not 
believe  that  any  other  man  can  ever  die  from  that  cause.” 

“  Ah,  Saffredent  !  ”  said  Dagoucin,  “how  can  you  ex.e.t  to 
be  loved  ?  I  know  many  instances  of  lovers  who  have  died  from 
nothing  else  than  the  intensity  of  their  passion.” 

•*  Since  that  is  the  case,  tell  us  one  of  those  stories,  and  let  it 
be  a  good  one,”  said  Longarine. 

“  Yes,”  said  he  ;  “  to  confirm  my  doctrine  by  signs  and  miracles, 
I  will  tell  you  a  story  that  happened  three  years  ago.” 


NOVEL  IX. 

Deplorable  death  of  a  lover  in  consequence  of  his  knowing  too  late  that  he  was 

beloved  by  his  mistress. 

N  the  confines  of  Dauphind  and  Provence  there  lived  a 
gentleman  who  was  much  better  endowed  with  the  gifts 
of  nature  and  education  than  with  those  of  fortune.  He 
was  passionately  enamoured  of  a  demoiselle  whose  name 
I  will  not  mention,  on  account  of  her  relations,  who  are  of  good 
and  great  houses  ;  but  you  may  rely  on  the  reality  of  the  act. 
Not  being  of  as  good  family  as  she  was,  he  durst  not  declare  his 
passion  ;  but  though  his  inferior  birth  made  him  despair  of  ever 
being  able  to  marry  her,  nevertheless  the  love  he  bore  her  was  so 
pure  and  respectful  that  he  would  have  died  rather  than  ask  of 
her  anything  which  could  compromise  her  honour.  He  loved 
her,  then,  only  because  he  thought  her  perfectly  lovable,  and 
he  loved  her  so  long  that  at  last  she  had  some  suspicion  of  the 
fact.  Seeing,  then,  that  his  love  for  her  was  founded  on  virtue 
only,  she  deemed  herself  fortunate  in  being  loved  by  so  upright 
a  man  ;  and  she  treated  him  with  such  affability  that  he,  who 
aspired  to  nothing  better  than  this,  was  transported  with  delight. 
But  envy,  the  enemy  of  all  quiet,  could  not  suffer  so  innocent 
and  so  sweet  an  intercourse  to  continue.  Some  one  told  the 
girl’s  mother  he  was  surprised  the  gentleman  went  so  often  to 
her  house,  that  people  saw  it  was  her  daughter’s  beauty  that  at¬ 
tracted  him,  and  that  they  had  often  been  seen  together.  The 
mother,  who  was  thoroughly  assured  of  the  gentleman’s  probity, 
was  greatly  annoyed  at  finding  that  a  bad  interpretation  was  put 
upon  his  visits  ;  but  in  the  end,  dreading  scandal  and  malicious 


Novel  9.]  First  Day .  43 

gossip,  she  begged  he  would  for  some  time  cease  to  frequent  her 
house.  The  gentleman  was  the  more  mortified  at  this,  as  the 
proper  and  respectful  manner  in  which  he  had  always  behaver- 
towards  the  daughter  had  deserved  very  different  treatment. 
However,  to  put  an  end  to  the  gossip  about  him,  he  discontinued 
his  visits. 

Absence,  meanwhile,  by  no  means  diminished  his  love  ;  but 
one  day,  when  he  was  paying  a  visit  co  his  mistress,  he  heard  it 
proposed  that  she  should  marry  a  gentleman  not  richer  than  him¬ 
self,  and  whom,  consequently,  he  thought  no  better  entitled  to  have 
her.  He  began  to  take  heart,  and  employed  his  friends  to  speak  on 
his  part,  in  the  hope  that  if  the  lady  was  allowed  to  choose,  she  would 
prefer  him  to  his  rival  ;  but  as  the  latter  was  much  the  wealthier 
man,  the  young  lady’s  mother  and  relations  gave  him  the  prefer¬ 
ence.  The  gentleman,  who  knew  that  his  mistress  was  a  loser  as 
well  as  himself,  was  so  grieved  at  being  rejected  that,  without 
any  malady,  he  began  by  degrees  to  waste  away,  and  became  so 
changed  that  one  would  have  said  he  had  covered  his  handsome 
face  with  the  mask  of  death,  to  which  from  hour  to  hour  he  was 
hastening.  Still  he  could  not  refrain  from  going  as  often  as  he 
could  to  see  her  whom  he  loved  so  well  ;  but  at  last,  his  strength 
being  worn  out,  he  was  compelled  to  keep  his  bed,  but  would  never 
let  his  mistress  know  of  it  for  fear  of  distressing  her.  So  entirely 
did  he  give  himself  up  to  despair,  that  he  neither  ate,  drank,  slept, 
nor  rested  ;  and  became  so  lean  and  wan  that  he  was  no  longer 
to  be  recognised.  Some  one  made  his  state  known  to  the  mother 
of  the  demoiselle,  who  was  very  kind-hearted,  and  had  besides  so 
much  esteem  for  the  gentleman,  that  if  the  relations  had  been  of 
the  same  mind  as  herself  and  her  daughter,  the  personal  merit  of 
the  invalid  would  have  been  preferred  to  the  alleged  wealth  of 
the  other  suitor  :  but  the  paternal  relations  would  not  hear  of  it. 
However,  she  went  with  her  daughter  to  see  the  poor  gentleman, 
whom  she  found  more  dead  than  alive.  As  he  knew  that  his  end 
was  near,  he  had  confessed  and  communicated,  and  never  expected 
to  see  any  more  visitors  ;  but  on  beholding  again  her  who  was 
his  life  and  his  resurrection,  his  strength  returned,  so  that  he  at 
once  sat  up  in  the  bed,  and  said,  “What  brings  you  hither, 
madam  ?  How  come  you  to  visit  a  man  who  has  already  one 
foot  in  the  grave,  and  of  whose  death  you  are  the  cause  ?  ” 

“  What  !  ”  exclaimed  the  lady.  “  Is  it  possible  we  should  cause 
the  death  of  one  we  love  so  much  ?  Tell  me,  I  entreat,  why  you 
speak  in  this  manner  ?  ” 

“  Madam,  I  concealed  my  love  for  your  daughter  as  long  as 


<6  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

I  could  ;  my  relations,  however,  who  have  asked  her  of  you  in 
marriage,  have  gone  further  than  1  wished,  since  I  have  thereby 
had  the  misfortune  to  lose  hope.  I  say  misfortune,  not  with  re¬ 
ference  to  my  individual  satisfaction,  but  because  1  know  that  no 
one  will  ever  treat  her  so  well  or  love  her  so  much  as  I  would 
have  done.  Her  loss  of  the  best  and  most  faithful  friend  and 
servant  she  has  in  the  world  touches  me  more  sensibly  than  the 
loss  of  my  life,  which  I  wish  to  preserve  for  her  alone.  Never¬ 
theless,  since  henceforth  it  can  be  of  no  use  to  her,  I  gain  much 
in  losing  it.” 

The  mother  and  daughter  tried  to  comfort  him.  “  Cheer  up, 
my  friend,”  said  the  mother.  <4  1  promise  you  that,  if  God  restores 
you  to  health,  my  daughter  shall  never  have  any  other  husband 
than  you.  She  is  present,  and  1  command  her  to  make  you  the 
same  promise.” 

The  daughter,  weeping  sorely,  assured  him  of  what  her  mother 
said  ;  but  he,  knowing  that  although  God  were  to  restore  him  to 
health,  he  should  not  have  his  mistress,  and  that  it  was  only  to 
cheer  him  that  these  hopes  were  held  out,  replied,  “Had  you 
spoken  in  this  manner  three  months  ago,  1  should  have  been  the 
healthiest  and  happiest  gentleman  in  France  ;  but  this  succour 
comes  so  late  that  I  can  neither  believe  it  nor  rest  any  hope  upon 
it.  Then,  as  they  strove  to  overcome  his  incredulity,  he  con¬ 
tinued,  “  Since  you  promise  me  a  blessing  which  can  never  be 
mine,  even  if  you  would  grant  it,  I  will  ask  you  to  confer  on  me 
one  much  less,  which  I  have  never  ventured  to  demand  of  you.” 
They  both  vowtd  that  they  would  grant  his  request,  and  that  he 
might  declare  it  boldly.  “  I  implore  you,”  said  he,  “to  put  into 
my  arms  her  whom  you  promise  me  for  a  wife,  and  to  bid  her 
embrace  and  kiss  me.” 

The  daughter,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  such  caresses,  was 
on  the  point  of  making  objections  ;  but  her  mother  expressly  com¬ 
manded  her  to  comply,  seeing  that  there  was  no  longer  in  him 
either  the  feeling  or  the  power  of  a  living  man.  After  such  a 
command,  the  daughter  no  longer  hesitated,  but  going  up  to  the 
bedside,  “  Cheer  up,  my  friend,”  she  said,  “cheer  up,  I  conjure 
you.”  The  poor  dying  creature,  notwithstanding  his  extreme 
weakness,  stretched  out  his  emaciated  arms,  embraced  with  all 
his  might  her  who  was  the  cause  of  his  death,  and  laying  his 
cold  pale  lips  to  hers,  clung  there  as  long  as  he  could. 

“1  have  loved  you,”  he  said  at  last,  “with  a  love  so  intense 
and  so  pure  that,  marriage  excepted,  I  have  never  desired  any 
other  favour  of  you  than  that  which  I  now  receive.  But  as  God 


Not  el  9.]  First  Day.  *  ’ 

has  not  been  pleased  to  unite  us  in  marriage,  I  gladly  surrender 
up  my  soul  to  Him  who  is  love  and  perfect  charity,  and  who 
knows  how  much  I  have  loved  you,  and  how  pure  my  desires 
have  been,  beseeching  Him  t hat,  since  I  hold  the  dear  object  ot 
n.y  desires  within  my  arms,  He  will  receive  my  soul  in  his.”  So 
saying,  he  clasped  her  again  in  his  embrace  with  such  vehemence 
that  his  enfeebled  heart,  bring  unable  to  sustain  the  effort,  was 
abandoned  by  all  his  spirits;  for  joy  so  dilated  them  that  thf 
seat  of  the  soul  gave  way  and  fled  to  its  Creator. 

Though  it  was  already  some  time  since  the  poor  gentleman 
had  expired,  and  could  not  retain  his  hold,  the  love  she  had  felt 
for  him,  and  which  she  had  always  concealed,  broke  forth  at  this 
moment  in  such  wise  that  the  mother  and  the  servants  had  much 
difficulty  in  detaching  the  almost  dead  survivor  from  the  corpse. 
The  poor  gentleman  was  honourably  interred  ;  but  the  greatest 
triumph  in  his  obsequies  was  the  tears  and  cries  of  that  poor 
demoiselle,  who  as  openly  displa>ed  her  feelings  after  his  death 
as  she  had  concealed  them  during  his  life,  as  if  she  would  make 
amends  for  the  wrong  she  had  done  him.  And  l  have  been  told 
that  for  all  they  gave  her  a  husband  to  console  her,  she  never 
afterwards  knew  real  joy.* 

Does  it  not  strike  you,  gentlemen,  who  refuse  to  believe  me, 
that  this  example  must  force  you  to  confers  that  love,  too  much 
concealed  and  too  little  known,  brings  people  to  the  grave? 
There  is  not  one  of  you  but  knows  the  relations  on  both  sides ; 
therefore  you  cannot  question  the  fact.  But  this  is  one  of  those 
things  which  no  one  believes  until  he  has  experienced  it. 

“  Well,”  said  Hircan,  who  saw  that  the  ladies  were  weeping 
*a  greater  fool  I  never  heard  of.  Now,  in  good  faith,  is  it 
reasonable  that  we  should  die  for  women  who  are  made  only  for 
us,  and  that  we  should  be  afraid  of  asking  of  them  what  God 
commands  them  to  give?  I  do  not  speak  for  myself,  or  for 
others  who  are  married,  for  I  have  as  much  as  1  w.mt  in  that 

*  It  is  possible  that  this  may  be,  as  Margaret  asserts,  a  true  story  of  her  own 
day,  but  it  very  closely  resembles  the  history  of  the  troubadour  Geoffroi  Rudel 
of  Blaye,  who  lived  in  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth  century.  Merely  upon  hear¬ 
say  of  the  moral  and  personal  perfections  of  the  Countess  of  Tripoli,  he  fel)  so 
desperately  in  love  with  her  that  he  pined  away,  and  embarked,  in  an  advanced 
stage  of  illness,  to  go  and  see  her.  When  the  vessel  reached  the  port  of  Tripoli 
he  was  too  weak  to  quit  it.  Moved  by  so  extraordinary  a  display  ^f  love,  the 
countess  visited  him  on  board,  took  his  hand,  and  spoke  graciously  and 
cheertngly  to  him.  Geoffroi  could  hardly  falter  out  his  thanks,  and,  ovezcozuc 
by  emotion,  instantly  expired. 


♦8  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

way,  or  more  ;  but  I  say  it  for  those  who  stand  in  need,  The.v 
are,  to  my  thinking,  grtat  blockheads  to  fear  tho^e  who  ought  to 
fear  them.  Don’t  you  see  that  this  girl  repen  ed  of  her  impru¬ 
dence  ?  Since  she  embraced  the  dead  man — a  thing  repugnant  to 
nature  —rely  upon  it,  she  would  still  better  have  embraced  the  living 
man,  if  he  had  bem  as  bold  as  he  was  pitiable  on  his  deathbed." 

“  By  the  very  conduct  for  which  you  upbraid  him,”  said 
Oisille,  “  he  showed  that  he  loved  honestly,  and  for  that  he 
deserves  eternal  praise  ;  for  chastity  in  an  enamoured  heart  is 
a  thing  npore  divine  than  human.” 

“  Ma<1am,”  replied  Saffredent,  “to  confirm  what  Hircan  has 
just  said,  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  fortune  favours  those  who  are 
bold,  and  ihat  no  man  who  'S  loved  by  a  lady  fails  to  obtain  from 
her  at  last  what  he  demands,  either  in  whole  or  in  part,  pro¬ 
vided  he  knows  how  to  set  about  it  sagely  and  amorously  ;  but 
ignorance  and  timidity  make  men  lo  e  many  a  good  fortune. 
What  is  singular  is,  that  they  attribute  the  loss  of  them  to  the 
virtue  of  their  mistress,  which  they  have  never  put  to  the  least 
proof.  Be  assured,  madam,  that  no  fortress  was  ever  well 
attacked  but  it  was  taken  at  last.” 

“  I  am  snockrd  at  you  two,”  said  Parlemente,  “that  you  dare 
to  hold  such  language.  Those  whom  you  have  loved  have  little 
reason  to  be  obliged  to  you  ;  or  else  you  have  employed  your 
address  upon  such  easy  conquests  that  you  have  concluded  all 
others  are  like  them.” 

“  For  my  part,  madam,”  said  Saffredent,  “  I  have  the  mis¬ 
fortune  to  have  nothing  to  boast  of  ;  but  this  I  attribute  much 
less  to  the  virtue  of  the  ladies  than  to  the  fault  I  have  committed 
in  not  having  conducted  my  enterprises  with  sufficient  sagacity 
and  prudence.  In  support  of  my  opinion,  I  shall  cite  no  other 
authority  than  that  of  the  old  woman  in  the  ‘  Romance  of  the 
Rose,’  who  says,  ‘  Without  question,  fair  sir,  we  are  all  made 
for  each  other  ;  every  she  for  every  he,  and  every  he  for  every 
she.’  In  short,  I  am  persuaded  that  if  a  woman  is  once  in  love, 
her  lover  will  compass  his  end  unless  he  be  a  booby.” 

“  Now  if  I  should  name  a  lady,”  returned  Parlamente,  “who 
loved  well,  was  strongly  solicited,  pressed,  and  importuned,  and 
yet  remained  a  virtuous  woman,  victorious  over  her  love  and  her 
lover,  would  you  own  that  this  fact,  which  is  truth  itself,  was 
possible  ?  ”  * 

«*  Why,  yes,”  replied  Saffredent. 

“Then  you  are  very  incredulous  if  you  do  not  believe  tli« 
eiample  adduced  by  Dagoucin.” 


Fwl  tO.] 


First  Day . 


49 


“  As  I  have  given  you,”  said  Dagoucin,  “an  authentic  instance 
of  virtuous  love  on  the  part  of  a  gentleman,  which  continued  to 
his  last  gasp,  if  you,  madam,  know  any  story  that  is  to  the  honour 
of  some  lady,  I  beg  you  will  be  good  enough  to  finish  the  day  by 
relating  it.  Never  mind  the  length  ;  for  there  is  time  enough 
still  to  say  many  good  things.” 

“  Since  I  am  to  finish  the  day,”  said  Parlamente,  “  I  will  not 
make  you  a  long  preamble,  my  story  being  so  good,  so  beautiful, 
and  so  true,  that  I  long  to  put  you  in  possession  of  it.  I  have 
not  been  an  eye-witness  to  the  facts  ;  but  I  have  them  from  an 
intimate  friend  of  the  hero,  who  related  them  to  me  on  condition 
that  if  I  repeated  them  I  should  conceal  the  names  of  the  persons. 
Everything,  then,  which  I  am  about  to  tell  you  is  true,  except 
the  names,  the  places,  and  the  country.” 

-foie  cf-iw  sy 

NOVEL  X. 

The  loves  of  Amadour  and  Florida,  wherein  are  seen  several  stratagems  and 
dissimulations,  and  the  exemplary  chastity  of  Florida. 


HERE  was  in  the  countv  of  Aranda,  in  Aragon,  a  lady 
who,  while  still  quite  young,  was  left  a  widow  by  Count 
^Trancfar with  one  son  and  one  daughter,  the  ffitmr  nf 

whom  was  named  Florida.  She  spared  no  pains  to 
bringup  henchilflren  arrording  tnTfheir  quality  in  virtue  and 
‘gootTb  reeding,  so  that  her  house  was  considered  to  be  one  of  the 
most  honourable  in  all  the  Spains,  she  often  went  to  roleHoT- 
where  the  King  of  Spain  tnenresided  ;  and  when  she  came  to 
Saragossa,  which  was  not  far  from  her  own  house,  she  used  to 
remain  a  long  time  at  the  queen’s  court,  where  she  was  as  much 
esteemed  as  any  lady  could  be.  Going  one  day,  according  to  her 
custom,  to  pay  her  court  to  the  king,  who  was  then  in  Saragossa, 
sue  passed  through  a  village  belonging  to  the  Viceroy  of  Cata¬ 
lonia,  who  did  not  quit  the  frontiers  of  Perpignan,  on  account  of 
the  wars  between  the  Kings  of  France  and  Spain.  But  as  peace 
was  then  made,  the  viceroy,  accompanied  by  several  officers,  had 
come  to  pay  his  devoirs  to  the  king.  The  viceroy,  having  been 
apprised  that  the  countess  was  to  pass  through  his  domains, 
went  to  meet  her,  as  well  by  reason  of  the  old  friendship  he 
bore  her,  as  to  do  her  honour  as  the  king’s  kinswoman.  lie 
was  accompanied  by  several  gentlemen  of  merit,  who  had 
acquired  so  much  glory  and  reputation  during  the  wars  that 
everyone  thought  it  a  good  fortune  to  enjoy  their  society.  There 

E 


50  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

was  one  among  them  named  Amadour,  who,  notwithstanding  his 
youth  (he^was  not  more  than  eighteen  or  nineteen),  had  such  an 
air  of  self-possession,  and  a  judgment  so  ripe,  rhat  one  would 
have  chosen  him  among  a  thousand  as  a  fit  man  to  govern  a 
state.  It  is  true  that  besides  good  sens^he  had  so  engaging  a 
mien,  and  graces  so  vivid  and  natural,  that  one  never  tired  of 
gazing  upon  him.  His  conversation  so  well  corresponded  with 
all  this,  that  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  nature  had  been  more 
bountiful  in  regard  to  corporeal  or  to  mental  endowments.  But 
what  gained  him  most  esteem  was  his  great  daring,  far  exceeding 
what  was  common  with  persons  of  his  age.  He  had  on  so  many 
occasions  shown  what  he  was  capable  of,  that  not  only  Spain,  but 
France  and  Italy  also,  highly  esteemed  his  virtues,  for  he  had 
never  spared  himself  in  any  of  the  wars  in  which  he  had  been 
engaged.  When  his  country  was  at  peace  he  went  in  search  oc 
war  among  foreigners,  and  vror  the  respect  and  love  of  friends 
and  enemies. 

This  gentleman  was  among  those  who  accompanied  his  captain 
to  the  domain  at  which  the  countess  had  arrived.  He  cguld 
not  behold  with  indifference  the  beauty  and  the  charms  of  her 
.daughter,  who  was  then-  but- tweLv£.y^r1T'oId .  IT?  had  never, "he 
thought,  seen  a  being  so  beautiful  and  oTliuch  high  breeding, 
and  he  believed  that  if  he  could  have  her  good  grace  he  should 
be  happier  than  if  he  possessed  all  the  wealth  and  all  the 
pleasures  he  could  receive  from  another.  After  having  long 
regarded  her,  he  finally  resolved  to  love  her,  in  spite  of  all  the 
insurmountable  obstacles  to  success  which  reason  presented  tc 
his  view,  whether  on  account  of  disparity  of  birth,  or  as  regardec 
the  extreme  youth  of  the  beautiful  girl,  who  was  not  yet  of  an  age 
to  listen  to  tender  speeches.  Against  all  these  obstacles  he  set 
a  resolute  hope,  and  promised  himself  that  time  and  patience 
would  bring  all  his  toils  to  a  happy  end.  To  remedy  the 
greatest  difficulty,  which  consisted  in  the  remoteness  of  his 
residence  and  the  few  opportunities  he  had  of  seeing  Florida,  he 
resolved  to  marry,  contrary  to  what  he  had  resolved  in  Barcelona 
and  Perpignan,  where  he  was  in  such  favour  with  the  ladies 
that  they  hardly  refused  him  anything.  He  had  lived  so  long 
on  those  frontiers  during  the  war  that  he  had  the  air  of  a 
Cata’an  rather  than  of  a  Castilian,  though  he  was  born  at  Toledo, 
of  a  rich  and  distinguished  family.  Being  a  younger  son,  he  had 
not  much  patrimony  :  but  love  and  fortune,  seem^  hTTiTitTprovided 
by  his  parents,  resolved  to  make  him  k  chef-d? BWre^  and  gave 
him  by  means  of  his  valour  what  the  laws  of  the  country  refused 


Novel  io.] 


First  Day . 


51 


him.  He  was  thoroughly  versed  in  the  art  of  war,  and  princes 
and  lords  esteemed  him  so  highly  that  he  oftener  refused  their 
good  offices  than  took  the  trouble  to  solicit  them. 

The  Countess  of  Aranda  arrived  then  in  Saragossa,  and  was 
extremely  well  received  by  the  king  and  the  whole  court.  The 
Governor  of  Catalonia  paid  her  frequent  visits,  in  which  Ama- 
dour  failed  not  to  accompany  him,  for  the  sole  pleasure  of  seeing 
Florida,,  for  he,  in  order  to  make  himself  known  in  such  good 
company,  attached  himself  to  the  daughter  of  an  old  knight,  his 
neighbour.  Her  name  was  Aventuraaa.  sne  nacfbeen  brought 
up  from  childhood  with  Florida,  and  Toiew  all  the  secrets  of  her 
heart.  Whether  it  was  that  Amadour  found  her  to  his  taste,  or 
that  her  dowry  of  three  thousand  ducats  a  year  tempted  him, 
made  her  an  offer  ot'  marriage.  She  IisteneH  to  him  witK” 
'pleasure  ;  dui  a§  he  Was  poor,  and  the  old  knight  was  rich,  she  ~ 
was  a  1  raid  he  would Inever  consent' to  the  marriage,  except  at  the 
^solicitation  oi  the  Countess  of  Aranda.  She  addressed  herself, 
^therefore,  to  k  lorida,  and"  salff^  "THbielieve,  madam,  that  this 
Castilian  gentleman,  wTio,  as  you  are*  aware,  often  speaks  to  me" 
\here,  intends  to  SfiftKTne  in  marriage.  You  know  what  sort  of 
man  my  tather~is,  and  you  must.be  sure~he  will  never  give  hisT 
consent  unless  the  counter  and  ynn  haye  the  goodness  to  press 
Tiim  strongly.”  Florida^  who  loved  the  damsel  like  herself, 
assured  her  ^he  would  make  the  business  her  own  ;  whereupon 
Aventurada  presented  Amadour  to  her,  who  on  kissing  her_ 
like  to  faint  for  joy.  Though  he  was  considered  one 
of  the  men  who  spoke  best  in  all  the  Spains,  he  could  not  find 
a  tongue  in  presence  of  Florida.  She  was  greatly  surprised  at 
this,  for  though  she  was  but  twelve  years  old,  she  nevertheless 
well  remembered  to  have  heard  that  there  was  not  in  Spain  a 
man  who  could  deliver  what  he  had  to  say  more  fluently,  or  with 
a  better  grace.  Seeing,  then,  that  he  uttered  not  a  word,  she 
broke  silence. 

“  You  are  so  well  known  by  reputation  all  over  the  Spains,” 
she  said,  “that  it  would  be  surprising,  Senor  Amadour,  if  you 
were  unknown  here  ;  and  all  who  know  you  desire  to  have  an 
opportunity  to  serve  you.  So  if  I  can  be  of  use  to  you  in  any 
way,  I  beg  you  will  employ  me.”  Amadour,  who  was  gazing  on 
Florida’s  charms,  was  so  rapt  and  transported  that  he  could 
hardly  say  grammercy.  Though  Florida  was  much  surprised  at 
^  his  silence,  she  attributed  it  to  some  caprice  rather  than  to  its 
'‘true  cause,  and  retired  without  saying  more.  “  Do  not  be  sur- 


prised,”  said  Amadour  to  her  he  wished  to  marry,  “if  1  was 


5* 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 


tongue-tied  in  presence  of  the  Lady  Florida.  She  speaks  so 
discreetly,  allil  so  many  ‘Vlfl.lics  are  latent  under  her  great  youtli, 
that  admiration  made  me  dumb.  As  you  know  her  secrets,  I 
beg  you  will  tell  me,  Aventurada,  how  is  it  possible  that  she  does 
not  possess  the  hearts  of  all  the  gentlemen  of  this  court,  for 
those  who  shall  know  her  and  love  her  not  must  be  stones  or 
brutes. ”  _  Aventurada, ^ho  already  loved  Amadour  above  all  men, 
and  coukTconceal  nothing  trom  him,  told  him  that  ~FIorT3a  was 
'  loved  by  everybody;  but  that,  in  accordance  with  thecustom  of 
'the  country,  she  spoketo  few  :  and  that  as  yet  she  was  aware  oT~ 
•  only  two  persons  who  made  muclTsKow  ot  love  tor  Florida,  and 
'""tnose  were  two" young  Spanish  princes,  wKoKtesrred  to  marry  her. 
""One  was  the  son  ‘of  the  Fortunate  Intante,  and  the  other  was 
*the  voungDuke  of  Cardona. 


Tell  me,  pray.*’  said  Amadour,  “  which  of  thejwo  do  you 
think  <;hp  loves  best  ?  ” 

She  is  so  good  and  virtuous  that  all  she  can  be  prevailed  oir 
^to  say  is,  that  she  has  no  choice  but  as  her  mother  pleases.  Aft 
A  far,  however,  as  we  can  judge,  she  likes  the  son  of  the  Fortunate 
Infante  better  than  the  young  Uu  <e  of  Cardona.  I  believe  you 


to  be  a  man'  ot  such  good  sense ThaT~you  may,  if  you  like,  come 
to  a  right  surmise  upon  the  matter  at  once.  The  son  of  the 
Fortunate  Infante  was  brought  up  at  this  court,  and  is  the  hand¬ 
somest  and  most  accomplished  young  prince  in  Europe.  If  the 
question  were  to  be  decided  by  the  votes  of  us  maidens,  this 
match  would  take  place,  in  order  that  the  most  charming  couple 
in  all  Spain  might  be  united.  You  must  know  that,  although 
they  are  both  very  young,  she  being  but  twelve  and  he  fifteen, 
they  have  loved  each  other  these  three  years.  If  you  wish 
to  have  her  good  grace,  I  advice  you  to  become  his  friend  and 
servant.’' 

Amadour  was  very  glad  to  hear  that  Florida  loved  something, 
for  he  hoped,  with  the  help  of  time,  to  become,  not  her  husband, 
but  her  lover  ;  for  her  virtue  caused  him  no  uneasiness,  his  only 
feai  being  lest  she  should  not  love  at  all.  He  had  little  difficulty 
in  introducing  himself  to  the  son  of  the  Fortunate  Infante,  and 
still  less  in  gaining  his  goodwill,  for  he  was  expert  in  all  the 
exercises  which  the  young  prince  was  fond  of.  He  was,  above 
all,  a  good  horseman,  skilled  in  feats  of  arms,  and  in  all  sorts  of 
exercises  befitting  a  young  man.  As  war  was  then  beginn  ng 
again  in  Languedoc,  Amadour  was  obliged  to  return  with  the 
governor  ;  but  it  was  not  without  keen  regret,  for  there  was  no 
prospect  of  his  returning  to  the  place  where  he  could  see  Florida. 


! 


Novel  io.  J 


First  Day . 


53 


Before  his  departure  he  spoke  to  his  brother,  who  was  major- 
domo  to  the  Queen  of  Spain,  told  him  the  good  match  he  had 
in  the  Countess  of  Aranda’s  hous^  in  the  Lady  Avtnturarla,  and 
begged  him  to  do  his  best  during  his  absence  to  further  his  mar¬ 
riage,  and  to  procure  on  his  behalf  the  influence  of  the  king,  the 
queen,  and  all  his  friends.  The  brother,  who  loved  Am  ad  our 
not  only  as  a  brother,  but  for^vis’gfearWTrrth,  promised  to  do  all 
^he~ could,  and  bestirred  himself  so  weTTfHarAvemui adaVrntserly  *  by" 
*n5ld  fattier KTr^TyrTTis1  avarice,  and  suttered  himself  to  be  moved  Vv  V 
'"'by  Amadou r’s  virtues,  as  they  were  represented  to  him  by  the  N 
L  ConTitdss'.ot  Arancia.l  thp  ]ieauilfufT,rorida,  and  the  yo mfg  tfoimt  , 
of  Aranda,  who  was  beginning,  as  he  grew  up,  to  rove~lTebpTe~of~~  V 
*'  merit.  _ Alter  ihe  marriage  had  been  agreed  on  betwe"en  fRe^feia^'i  / 


larriage  naa  been  agr< 

tior.s,  the  major-domo  made  his  brother  return  to  Spain  under 
'  favour  of  a  truce  then  pending  between  the  two  kings.  During 
this  truce  the  King  of  Spain  withdrew  to  Madrid,  to  avoid  the 
bad  air  whirh  wa^in — places,  and  aT~thTrequest  of  the 
Countess  of  Aranda  gave  his  sanction  to  the  marriage  of  the 
^Tieht^b- Duchess  of  ~IVredifta£ell  'with  the  little  Count  of  Aranda. 
The  we'dBTng^ was  celebrated  at  tne  palace  ot  Madrid.  Amadour 


¥ 


was  present,  and  turned  the  occasion  to  such  account  that  he 
married  her  whom  he  had  inspired  with  more  love  than  he  felt 
for  her,  and  whom*  he  made  his  wife  only  that  he  might  have 
a  plausible  pretext  for  frequenting  the  place  where  his  mind 
incessantly  dwelt. 

Alter  his  marriage  he  became  so  bold  and  so  familiar  in  the 
family  of  the  Countess  of  Aranda  that  no  more  distrust  was  eritei^ 
tamed  ot  him  than  it  he  had  been  a  woman.  Though  he  was 
then  but  twenty-two  years  old,  he  was  so  prudent  that  the  coun¬ 
tess  communicated  all  her  affairs  to  him,  and  commanded  her 
daughter  and  her  son  to  converse  with  him  and  follow  all  his 
advice.  Having  gained  this  capital  point,  he  conducted  himself 
so  discreetly  and  with  such  address  that  even  she  whom  he  loved 
never  suspected  it.  As  she  was  very  fond  of  Amadour’s  wife, 
had  such  confidence  in  the  husband  that  she  concealed 


nothing  from  him,  and  even  declared  to  him  all  the  love~  sue 
^"relt  for  the  son  ot  the  Fortunate  Infante  ;  and  Amadour,  whose- 
,*,'VteW5  were  all  directed  to  gaining  her- entirely,  talked  to  her 
incessantly  of  the  young  prince  ;  for  he  cared  not  what  was  the 
subject  on  which  he  spoke  to  her,  provided  he  could  hold  her 
long  in  conversation. 

He  had  hardly  been  a  month  married  when  he  was  obliged  to 
jc  to  the  wars  again  and  it  was  more  than  two  years  before  he 


5i 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Quee?i  of  Navarre. 


could  return  to  his  wife,  who  all  the  whi'e  continued  to  reside 
where  she  had  been  brought  up.  He  wrote  frequently  to  her  in 
interval ;  but  the  chief  part  of  his  letters  consisted  of  com¬ 
pliments  to  Florida,  who  on  her  part  tailed  not  to  return  them, 
and  often  even  wrote  with  her  own  hand  some  pretty  phrase  in' 
^ventura^^TetTers.-  This  was  “qu  ite  enough  to  induce  the~hus- 
>and  to  write  frequently  to  his  wife  ]_yet  in  all  this  Florida  knew 
nothing  but  that  she  loved  hftn  like  a  brother.  T  Amadour  went" 
and  came  several  times,  and  during  five  years  he  saw-Flrq-jda 


not  more  than  two  months  altogether.  Yet,  in  spite  of  distance 
and  long  absehce~his  ldve"'ndt  bnlyTremained  "in  lull  iorceT^ 


but 


even  grew  stronger. 

last  ft  rowing  to  see  his  wife,  found  the  countess 

for  lV»^y  fr^m  -t-hft  f-nr  The  king  had  gone  into  Andalusia, 

'  and  had  taken  with  him  the  young  C o u nT*oT  Ara h dUp whcPw as" 
already  beginning  to  bear  arms,  and  the  countess  had  retired  to 
a  country-house  of  hers  on  the  frontier  of  Aragon  and  Navarre. 
She  was  very  glad  of  the  arrival  of  Amadour,  whom  she  had  not 
seen  for  nearly  three  years.  He  was  welcomed  by  everybody, 
and  the  ciim^ww^-^<iiiiiraiidr7l-lF^TT~^h'o'uld  be  treated  as  her 
‘  own  son.  When  he  was  with  her,  she  consulted  him  on  all  the 


affairs  of  her  house,  and  did  just  as  he  advised.  In  fact,  his  in¬ 
fluence  in  the  family  was  unbounded  ;  and  so  strong  was  the  be¬ 
lief  in  his  discernment  that  he  was  trusted  on  all  occasions  as 
though  he  had  been  a  saint  or  an  angel.  As  for  Florida,  who 
loved  Aventurada,  and  had  no  suspicion  of  her  husband’s  inten¬ 
tions,  she  testified  her  affection  for  him  without  reserve.  Her 
heart  being  free  from  passion,  she  felt  much  pleasure  in  his  so¬ 
ciety,  but  she  felt  nothing  more.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  found 
it  a  very  hand  task  to  evade  the  penetration  of  those  who  knew 
by  experience  the  difference  between  the  looks  of  a  man  who  loves 
and  of  one  who  does  not  love  ;  for  when  Florida  talked  familiarly 
with  him  in  her  frank  simplicity,  the  hidden  fire  in  his  heart 
blazed  up  so  violently  that  he  could  not  help  feeling  it  in  his 
face,  and  letting  some  sparks  from  it  escape  from  his  eyes. 

To  baffle  observation,  therefore,  he  entered  into  an  intrigue  with 
viiamerf’T'aulina"  woo  was  consiaerea  in  hei^time  so  bKflTtT^ 
ful  that  few  men  saw  her  and  escaped  her  fascination's! ""Paulina 
"'iTeing  aware  htJuTAmadour  hacTTnade  love  in  Barcelona  and 
rTVerpignan,  and  won  jFe  hearts  ot  the  h'a n Ts dines t  lames  irTtKe 
country,  especially  that  of  a  certain  Countess  ot  Falamos,  ^who~ 


was  reputed  the  finest  woman  in  all  Spain,  told  him  one  da^  that 

sire  pitied  him  tor  having,  after  so  many  good  fortunes,  marrieT 


Novel  ro.]  hirst  Day.  55 

a  wife  so  ugly  as  his  own.  Amadour.  who  well  knew  that  she 
had  aTrilnd  to  supply  his  wants,  talked  Toiler  in  the  most  enga¬ 
ging  terms  he  could  use,  hoping  to  conceal  a  truth  from  her  by 
making  her  belie  ve”a  falsehood.  As  she  had  experience  in  love, 
*■  she  did  not  content  herself  with  words,  and  plainly  perceiving 
that  Amadour’s  heart  was  not  her  own,  she  made  no  doubt  that 
he  wanted  to  use  her  as  a  stalking-horse.  With  this  suspicion  in 
her  mind,  she  observed  him  so  narrowly  that  not  a  single  glance 
of  his  eyes  escaped  her  ;  but  he  managed,  though  with  the  utmost 
difficulty,  to  regulate  them  so  well  that  she  could  never  get 
beyond  conjectures.  Florida,  who  had  no  notion  of  the  nature 
of  Amadour’s  feelings  towards  her,  used  to  speak  to  him  so  fami¬ 
liarly  before  Paulina  that  he  could  hardly  prevent  his  eyes  from 
following  the  movements  of  his  heart.  To  prevent  bad  conse¬ 
quences.  one  day,  as  Florida  and  he  were  talking  together  at  a 
window,  he  said  to  her,  “  My  dear,  I  beseech  you  to  advise  me 
which  of  the  two  is  betteTT  to~speak  or  to  die?'1 

“I  shall  always  advise  my  friends  to  speak,”  she  replied,  with¬ 
out*"  hesitation  \  "  tot*  rhefe  are  few  words  which  cannot  hp 

""remedied  !  but  from  death  there  is  no  return.” 

“  You  promise  me,  then,  that  not  only  you  will  not  be  angry 
at  what  I  want  to  tell  you,  but  even  that  you  will  not  give  way 
to  surprise  until  I  have  laid  my  whole  mind  open  to  you  ?  ” 

“  Say  what  you  please,”  replied  Florida,  “for  if  you  surprise 
me  there  is  no  one  who  can  reassure  me.” 

“Two  reasons,  madam,  have  hindered  me  hitherto  from  de¬ 
claring  the  strong  passion  I  feel  for  you  :  one  is,  that  I  wished  to 
make  it  known  to  you  by  long  services,  and  the  other,  that  I  was 
afraid  you  would  n  gard  it  as  a  great  vanity  that  a  simple  gentle¬ 
man  like  myself  should  raise  his  desires  so  high.  Even  though 
my  birth  were  as  illustrious  as  your  own,  a  heart  so  true  as  yours 
would  take  it  ill  that  any  other  than  he  on  whom  you  have  be¬ 
stowed  it,  the  son  of  the  Fortunate  Infante,  should  talk  to  you  of 
love.  But,  madam,  as  in  war  necessity  often  compels  the  belli¬ 
gerent  to  destroy  his  own  property,  and  ruin  his  standing  crops 
that  the  enemy  may  not  profit  by  them,  so  I  venture  to  forestall  the 
fruit  which  1  hoped  to  gather  in  time,  lest  your  enemies  and  mine 
profit  by  out  loss.  Know,  madam,  that  from  the  first  moment  I 
had  the  honour  of  seeing  you,  I  so  wholly  consecrated  myself  to 
your  service,  though  you  were  very  young,  that  I  have  forgotten 
nothing  whereby  I  couid  hope  to  acquire  your  good  grace.  It 
was  to  that  end  alone  that  I  married  her  whom  I  thought  you 
loved  best ;  and  knowing  the  love  you  bore  to  the  son  of  the  For- 


56  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Nazar  re. 

tunate  Infante,  I  took  pains  to  serve  him  and  be  about  him  ;  in 
short,  whatever  1  thought  could  please  you,  I  have  tried  with  all 
my  might  to  do.  You  see  that  1  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  win 
the  esteem  of  the  countess  your  mother,  of  the  count  your  brother, 
and  of  all  those  whom  you  love,  and  that  1  am  regarded  here  r.ot 
as  a  servant,  but  as  a  son  of  the  family.  All  the  pains  1  have 
taken  for  five  years  nave  had  no  other  object  than  to  procure  me 
the  happiness  of  passing  my  whole  life  with  you.  1  crave  no 
favour  or  pleasure  of  you  which  is  not  consistent  with  virtue.  1 
know  that  I  cannot  wed  you,  and  if  I  could  I  would  not  do  so  to 
the  prejudice  of  the  love  you  bear  to  him  whom  I  would  gladly 
see  as  your  husband.  To  love  you  with  a  criminal  love,  like  those 
who  presume  to  think  that  a  lady’s  dishonour  should  be  the  recom¬ 
pense  of  their  long  services,  is  a  thought  I  am  so  far  from  enter¬ 
taining,  that  I  would  rather  see  you  dead  than  know  that  you 
were  less  worthy  of  love,  and  that  your  virtue  should  suffer  the 
least  blemish  for  the  sake  of  any  pleasure  whatever  to  myself.  I 
ask  but  one  thing  of  you  in  recompense  for  my  long  services,  and 
that  is,  that  you  will  deign  to  become  a  mistress  so  loyal  as  never 
to  remove  me  from  your  good  grace,  but  let  me  continue  on  my 
present  footing,  and  trust  in  me  more  than  in  anyone  besides.  Fur¬ 
thermore,  madam,  do  me  the  honour  to  he  well  assured  that,  be 
the  matter  what  it  may,  should  you  have  need  of  the  life  of  a 
gentleman,  you  may  count  on  mine,  which  I  would  sacrifice  for 
you  right  gladly.  1  beseech  you  to  believe,  likewise,  madam, 
that  whatever  1  shall  do  that  is  honourable  and  virtuous  shall  be 
done  for  love  of  you.  If,  for  sake  of  ladies  inferior  to  you,  I 
have  done  things  which  have  been  thought  well  of,  what  shall 
1  not  do  for  a  mistress  like  you  ?  Things  which  I  found  difficult 
or  impossible  will  seem  ea^y  to  me.  Hut  it  you  will  not  permit 
me  to  be  wholly  devoted  to  you,  my  resolution  is  to  fotsake  the 
career  of  arms,  and  renounce  the  virtue  which  shall  not  have 
helped  me  at  need.  1  entreat  you,  then,  madam,  to  grant  rne 
the  just  grace  which  I  ask,  and  you  cannot  refuse  in  conscience 
and  with  honour.” 

Florida  changed  colour  at  a  speech  so  novel  to  her.  Surprise 
made  her  cast  down  her  eyes ;  nevertheless,  her  good  sense 
prompted  her  to  reply,  “  Does  it  need  so  long  an  harangue,  Ama- 
dour,  to  ask  of  me  what  you  have  already  ?  I  fear  so  much  that, 
under  your  seemingly  courteous  and  modest  language,  there  is 
some  lurking  mischief  to  deceive  my  unpractised  youth,  that  I 
know  not  how  to  reply  to  you.  Were  I  to  reject  the  virtuous 
friendship  you  offer  me,  I  should  do  contrary  to  what  1  have 


Novel  io,]  First  Day.  53 

done  hitherto  ;  for  you  are  the  person  in  whom  I  have  reposed  \ 
most  confidence.  My  conscience  and  my  honour  do  not  revolt 
either  against  your  request  or  against  the  love  I  bear  to  the  son 
of  the  Fortunate  Infante,  since  it  rests  on  marriage,  to  which 
you  do  not  aspire.  There  is  nothing,  then,  to  hinder  me  from 
replying  in  accordance  with  your  desires,  except  a  fear  1  have  in 
my  heart,  proceeding  from  the  little  occasion  you  have  for  speak 
ing  to  me  as  you  do  ;  for  if  you  already  have  what  you  ask,  how 
comes  it  that  you  ask  for  it  again  with  so  much  eagerness  ?  ” 

“You  speak  very  prudently  madam,”  replied  Amadour,  who 
had  his  answer  ready,  “and  you  do  me  so  much  honour  and  so 
much  justice  in  putting  the  confidence  in  me  you  say.  that  if  I 
were  not  content  with  such  a  blessing,  I  were  unworthy  of  all 
others.  But  consider,  madam,  that  he  who  wants  to-  build  a 
durable  edince  must  begin  by  laying  a  good  and  solid  founda¬ 
tion.  As  I  desire  to  remain  for  ever  in  your  service,  I  think  not 
only  of  the  means  of  being  near  you,  but  also  of  hindering  my 
attachment  to  you  from  being  perceived.  Though  this  attach¬ 
ment,  madam,  is  quite  pure,  yet  those  w'ho  do  not  know  the 
hearts  of  lovers  often  judge  ill  of  them,  and  this  gives  occasion 
for  scandal  as  much  as  if  their  conjectures  were  well  founded. 
What  makes  me  speak  of  this  is.  that  Paulina,  who  knows  well 
that  I  cannot  love  her,  suspects  me  so  much  that  wherever  I  am 

she  has  her  “eyes  continually  upon  me.  When  you  speak  to~~mef 

before  her  with  so  much  kindness,  I  am  so  much  afraid  of  making 
some  gesture  on  which  she  may  rest  a  surmise  that  I  fall  into 
the  very  thing  I  wish  to  avoid.  I  am  therefore  constrained, 
madam,  to  request  you  will  not  for  the  future  address  me  so  sud¬ 
denly  before  her,  or  before  those  whom  you  know  to  be  as  mali¬ 
cious  as  she  is,  for  I  would  rather  die  than  that  any  creature  living 
should  perceive  it.  If  your  honour  was  less  dear  to  me,  I  should 
not  have  been  in  haste  to  say  this  to  you,  since  I  am  so  happy 
in  the  love  and  the  confidence  you  manifest  towards  me,  that  I 
desire  nothing  more  than  their  continuance.” 

Florida  was  so  gratified  that  she  could  hardly  contain  herself, 
ctnd  thenceforth  she  felt  in  her  heart  emotions  that  were  new  to 
her  “  Virtue  and  good  breeding  reply  for  me,”  she  said,  “and 
grant  you  what  you  request.” 

That  Amadour  was  transported  with  joy  will  not  be  doubted 
by  any  who  love.  Florida  followed  his  advice  better  than  he 
could  have  wished  ;  for  as  she  was  timid  not  only  in  presence  of 
Paulina,  but  everywhere  else  too,  she  no  longer  sought  his  society 
as  she  had  been  used  to  do.  She  even  disapproved  of  his  inter- 


5» 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 


course  with  Paulina,  who  seemed  to  her  so  handsome  that  she 
^coulri  not  believe  he  did  not,  love  her.  Florida  ventea  het  klief 
*  with  Aventurada,  wl  o  was  beginning  to  be  very  jealous  of  her 
husband  and  Paulina.'  She  poured  out  her  lamentations  to~~~ 
<rTrIorida>  who,  being  sick  of  the  same  distemper,  consoled  her  as~ 
^well  as  jiTre  emild.  - — - "  - - -  ’ 

Amadour,  soon  perceiving  the  change  in  Florida’s  conduct, 
believed  not  only  that  she  was  reserved,  as  he  had  advised  her 
to  be,  but  even  that  she  had  conceived  unfavourable  sentiments 
with  regard  to  him.  One  day,  as  he  was  escorting  her  home  from 
a  convent  where  she  had  heard  vespers,  “What  sort  of  coun¬ 
tenance  do  you  show  me,  madam  ?  ”  he  said. 

“  Such  as  I  believe  you  wish  me  to  show,”  she  replied. 

Suspecting  the  truth  then,  he  continued,  “  I  have  taken  such 
means,  madam,  that  Paulina  no  longer  suspects  you.” 

“  You  could  not  do  better  for  yourself  and  for  me,”  she  replied  ; 

“  for  while  doing  yourself  pleasure,  you  do  me  honour.” 

Amadour,  inferring  from  this  that  she  believed  he  took  pleasure 
in  talking  with  Paulina,  was  so  incensed  that  he  could  not  help 
saying  in  anger,  “  You  begin  betimes,  madam,  to  make  me  suffer. 

I  am  more  to  be  pitied  than  blamed,  and  the  most  cruel  mortifi¬ 
cation  I  have  ever  endured  in  my  life  is  the  painful  necessity  I 
am  under  of  speaking  to  a  woman  I  do  not  love.  Since  you 
put  a  bad  interpretation  on  what  I  have  done  for  your  service, 

I  will  never  speak  more  to  Paulina,  happen  what  may.  To 
hide  my  sorrow  as  I  have  hidden  my  joy,  I  will  retire  to  some 
place  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  wait  there  till  your  caprice 
has  passed  away.  But  I  hope  I  shall  receive  news  from  my  cap¬ 
tain,  and  be  obliged  to  return  to  the  army,  where  I  will  remain 
so  long  as  will  prove  to  you,  I  hope,  that  nothing  keeps  me 
here  but  you.” 

So  saying,  he  went  away  without  awaiting  her  reply,  which 
caused  Florida  an  anxiety  it  is  impossible  to  express.  Thus  love 
began  to  make  its  strength  felt  through  its  opposite.  Finding 
— nn  reflection  that  she  had  been  wrong,  Florida  wrote  to  Ama¬ 
dour/  begging  him  to  return,  which  he  did  after  his  anger  had 
somewha*  ciihc1ftH  I  cannot  tell  you  in  detail  what  they  said 
to  each  other  to  destroy  these  prejudices  of  jealousy  :  butt! 
result  was  that  he  justified  himself  so  well  that  she  prornisecTnot 
«*l)hly  that  she  he  loved  Paulina,  Dirt  that  she 

would  remain  convinced  that  it  was  a  most  cruel  martyrdom  lor 
him  to  speak  to  her,  or  any  other  woman,  except  oniy  with  & 

*'  yiew  to  render  her  service.  ' 


I 


Novel  io.] 


First  Day. 


59 


After  love  had  dissipated  this  cloud,  and  when  the  lovers  were 
beginning  to  take  more  pleasure  than  ever  in  each  other’s  society, 
news  came  that  the  King  of  Spain  was  sending  his  whole  army 
to  Salces.  Amadour,  whose  custom  it  was  to  be  among  the  first 
to  join  the  royal  standards,  would  not  miss  this  new  opportunity 
of  acquiring  glory  ;  but  it  must  be  owned  that  he  set  out  with 
unwonted  regret,  as  well  on  account  of  the  pleasure  he  lost,  as 
because  he  was  afraid  of  finding  a  change  on  his  return,  jie 
^reflected  that  Florida  was  now  fifteen,  that  many  princes  and  great 

lords  were  seeking-  her  hand,  and  that  if  she  married  during-  hjjg 

absence  he  woilld  jhgTg  ho  mute  opportunity  of  seeing  herT  unless 
]the  Countess  of  Aranda^sholTlcl  give  her  Aventurada  for  her  com- 
^  pan  ion. ~  Accordingly,  he  managed  so  adroitly  that  the  countess 
and  Florida  both  promised  him  that,  wherever  the  latter  resided 
after  her  marriage,  his  wife  should  never  leave  her ;  and  as  there 
was  a  talk  then  of  her  being  married  in  Portugal,  it  was  resolved 
that  Aventurada  should  accompany  her  to  that  country.  Upon 
this  assurance  Amadour  took  his  departure,  not  without  extreme 
regret,  and  let t  his  wile  with  the  countess. 

Florida,  left  lonely  by  her  lover’s  departure,  lived  in  such  a 
maiTh^r  as  she  PopeHwould  gain  lor  her  the  renutation  of  the 
""most  perfect  virtue,  and  make  the  whole  world  confess  that  she_. 

merited  such  a  servant  as  A.marionr._  as  t'nr  him,  on  arriving  at 
Barcelona,  he  was  cordially  welcomeffby  the  ladies  ;  but  they 
found  him  so  changed  that  they  never  could  have  believed  that 
marriage  could  have  such  an  effect  upon  a  man.  In  fact,  he  was 
no  longer  the  same  ;  he  was  even  vexed  at  the  sight  of  what  he 
formerly  desired  •  and  the  Countess  of  Palamos,  of  whom  he  had 
been  so  enamoured,  could  never  find  means  to  make  him  even 
visit  her.  Being  impatient  to  reach  the  spot  where  honour 
was  to  be  gamed,  he  made  as  short  a  stay  as  possible  in  Barce^~ 
Iona.  He  was  no  sooner  arrived  at  Salces  than  war  broke  out 
•’'^vv'ithgreaF 
details  ofTl 
formed 


between  the  two  kings.' 


I  will  not  enter  into 
heroic  actions  per¬ 


nor  enumerate  the 

in  it  by  Amadour,  for  then,  instead  of  telling  a  tale,  I 
should  have  to  compose  a  great  book.  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
his  renown  overtopped  that  of  all  his  comrades  in  arms.  The 
Duke  of  Nagyeres,  who  commanded  two  thousand  men,  arrived 
at  Perpignan,  and  took  Amadour  lor  his  lieutenant.  Hfe  did  Ills 
duty  so  well  with  his  little  corps  that  in  every  skirmish  no  other 
cry  was  heard  than  that  of  Nagyeres! 

Now  the  King  of  Tunis,  who  had  long  been  at  war  with  the 
Spaniards,  learning  that  Spain  and  France  were  waging  mutual 


6o 


The  Heptame)  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

hostilities  about  Perpignan  and  Narbonne,  thought  it  a  good  op¬ 
portunity  to  harass  the  King  of  Spain,  and  sent  a  great  number 
of  ships  to  pillage  and  destroy  every  ill-guarded  point  they  found 
on  the  coasts  of  Spain.  The  people  of  Barcelona,  seeing  so 
many  strange  sail  pass  by,  sent  word  to  the  viceroy,  who  was 
then  at  Salces,  and  who  immediately  despatched  the  Duke  ot 
Nagyeres  to  Palamos.  The  barbarians,  finding  the  place  so  well 
defended,  made  a  feint  of  sheering  off ;  but  they  returned  in  the 
night,  and  landed  so  many  men  that  the  Duke  of  Nagyeres,  who 
had  let  himself  be  surprised,  was  taken  prisoner.  Amadour, 
who  was  very  vigilant,  hearing  the  noise,  assembled  instantly  as 
many  of  his  men  as  he  could,  and  made  so  stout  a  resistance  that 
the  enemy,  however  superior  in  numbers,  were  for  a  long  time 
held  at  bay.  But  at  last,  learning  that  the  Duke  of  Nagyeres 
was  a  prisoner,  and  that  the  Turks  were  resolved  to  burn  Palamos 
and  the  house  in  which  he  withstood  them,  he  thought  it  better 
to  surrender  than  to  cause  the  loss  of  those  who  had  followed 
him.  Besides,  by  paying  for  his  ransom,  he  expected  to  see 
Florida  again.  He  surrendered  then  to  a  Turk  named  Dorlin, 
Viceroy  of  Tunis,  who  presented  him  to  his  master,  in  whose 
service  he  remained  nearly  two  years,  honoured  and  well  treated, 
but  still  better  guarded  ;  for,  having  him  in  their  hands,  the 
Turks  thought  they  had  the  Achilles  of  all  the  Spains. 

The  news  of  this  event  having  reached  Spain,  the  relations  of 
the  Duke  of  Nagyeres  were  greatly  affected  at  his  disaster  ;  but 
those  who  had  the  glory  of  the  country  at  heart  thought  the  loss 
of  Amadour  still  more  grievous.  It  became  known  to  the 
Countess  of  Aranda,  in  whose  house  poor  Aventurada  lay 
dangerously  ill.  The  countess,  who  had  great  misgivings  as  to 
the  tender  feelings  which  Amadour  entertained  for  her  daughter, 
but  concealed  or  tried  to  suppress  them,  in  consideration  of  the 
virtues  which  she  recognized  in  him,  called  her  daughter  aside 
to  communicate  this  painful  intelligence  to  her.  Florida,  who 
could  dissemble  well,  said  it  was  a  great  loss  for  their  whole 
house,  and  that,  above  all,  she  pitied  his  pnpr  wife,  wfrp,  to 
make  the  matter  worse,  was  oiflier  sick  bed  ;  but  seeing  that  her 
mother  wept  much,  she  let  fall  a  tew  tears  to  keep  her  company, 
for  fear  that  the  feint  should  be  discovered  by  being  overdone. 
The  countess  often  talked  with  her  again  on  the  subject,  but 
could  never  draw  from  her  any  indication  on  which  she  could 
form  a  definite  conclusion.  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  pilgrimages, 
prayers,  orisons,  and  fasts  which  Florida  regularly  performed  for 
Amadour’s  safety.  Immediately  on  his  reaching  Tunis,  he  sent 


6i 


Novel  io.l  First  Day . 

an  expressto  Florida  to  acquaint  her  that  he  was  in  good  health,  * 
and  full  of  hope  that  he  should  see  her  again,  which  was  a  great 
consolation  to  her.  In  return,  she  corresponded  with  him  sc 
diligently  that  Amadour  had  not  leisure  to  grow  impatient. 

At  this  period  the  countess  received  orders  to  repair  to 
Saragossa,  where  the  king  was.  The  young  Duke  of  Cardona 
'Was  there,  and  bestirred  himself  so  effectually  with  the  king  and 
ThS'TJUeemtnn  they  Lagged”  the  countess  to  conclude  the  mar- 

*riage  between  him  and  FtuiiiU. - The  cuimtessi  who  neither* 

could  nor  would~refuse  their  majesties  anything,  consented  to  it 
the  more  willingly  as  she  believed  that  her  daughter  would  at 
those  years  have  no  other  will  than  hers.  All  being  settled,  she 
told  her  daughter  she  had  chosen  for  her  the  match  she  thought 
would  be  most  advantageous  ;  and  Florida  submitted,  seeing  no 
room  was  left  her  for  deliberation,  the  business  being  already  set- 
tied.  To  make  matters  worse,  she  heard  that  the  Fortunate  Intante 
was  a!  the  point  of  death.  She  never  suffered  the  least  evidence 
’  of  her  mortification  to  escape  in  presence  of  her  mother  or  any¬ 
one  else  ;  and  so  strongly  did  she  conceal  her  feelings,  that  in¬ 
stead  of  shedding  tears  she  was  seized  with  a  bleeding  at  the 
nose  so  copious  as  to  endanger  her  life.  By  way  of  re-establish¬ 
ing  her  health,  she  married  the  man  she  would  willingly  have 
exchanged  for  death.  After  her  marriage  she  went  with  her 
husband  to  the  duchy  of  Cardona,  and  took  with  her  Aven- 
turada,  whom  she  acquainted,  in  confidence,  with  her  mother’s 
harshness  towards  her,  and  her  regret  for  the  loss  of  the  For¬ 
tunate  Infante  ;  but  with  regard  to  Amadour,  she  spoke  of  him 
only  to  console  his  wife.  Resolutely  setting  God  and  honour 
before  her  eyes,  she  so  well  concealed  her  sorrow  that  none  of 
those  who  were  most  intimate  with  her  ever  perceived  that  she 
disliked  her  husband. 

For  a  long  time  did  she  continue  this  life,  which  was  hardly 
better  than  death.  She  failed  not  to  make  all  known  to  Ama¬ 
dour,  who,  knowing  the  greatness  of  her  heart,  and  how  she  had 
loved  the  Fortunate  Infante,  thought  it  impossible  she  could 
live  long,  and  mourned  for  her  as  one  whom  he  looked  upon  as 
worse  than  dead.  This  affliction  augmented  that  under  which  he 
already  laboured.  Gladly  would  he  have  been  a  slave  all  his  life,  so 
Florida  had  found  a  husband  after  her  own  heart  ;  for  the  thought 
of  his  mistress’s  sorrows  made  him  forget  his  own.  Mean¬ 
while,  he  learned  from  a  friend  he  had  made  at  the  court  of  Tunis, 
that  the  king  was  resolved  to  give  him  his  choice,  either  to  re¬ 
nounce  his  faith  or  be  impaled,  for  he  wished  to  keep  him  in  his 


62  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

service,  if  he  could  make  a  good  Turk  of  him.  To  prevent  this, 
Amadour  prevailed  upon  his  master  to  let  him  go  upon  his  parole 
without  speaking  to  the  king  ;  and  his  ransom  was  set  so  high 
that  the  Turk  calculated  that  a  man  who  had  so  little  wealth 
could  never  raise  the  amount. 

On  his  return  to  the  court  of  Spain  he  made  but  a  short  stay 
there,  and  went  away  to  seek  his  ransom  in  the  purses  of  his 
friends.  He  went  straight  to  Barcelona,  whither  the  young 
Duke  of  Cardona,  his  mother,  and  Florida  were  gone  on  some 
business.  Aventurada  was  no  sooner  apprised  of  her  husband’s 
return  than  she  imparted  the  news  to  Florida,  who  rejoiced  at  it 
as  if  for  her  sake.  But  for  fear  lest  the  joy  of  again  beholding 
Amadour  should  produce  a  change  in  her  countenance,  which 
might  be  noticed  by  those  who  did  not  know  her,  and  therefore 
would  misjudge  her,  she  placed  herself  at  a  window,  in  order  to 
catch  sight  of  him  at  a  distance,  and  the  moment  she  perceived 
him,  running  down  a  staircase  so  dark  that  it  was  impossible  to 
discern  if  she  changed  colour,  she  embraced  him,  took  him  up  to 
her  chamber,  and  then  presented  him  to  her  mother-in-law,  who 
had  never  seen  him.  He  had  not  been  there  two  days  before  he 
was  as  great  a  favourite  as  he  had  been  in  the  house  of  the 
Countess  of  Aranda.  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  conversation 
between  Florida  and  Amadour,  nor  all  she  told  him  of  the 
afflictions  she  had  incurred  during  his  absence.  After  many  tears 
wrung  from  her  eyes  by  her  grief  at  having  married  contrary 
to  her  inclination,  and  at  having  lost  him  whom  she  loved  so 
passionately,  and  whom  she  never  hoped  to  see  again,  she 
resolved  to  console  herself  with  the  love  and  confidence  she  had 
in  Amadour.  However,  she  durst  not  avow  her  intentions  ;  but 
Amadour,  who  suspected  them,  lost  neither  time  nor  opportunity 
to  make  known  to  her  how  much  he  loved  her. 

Just  when  Florida  could  hardly  refrain  from  advancing  Amadour 
from  the  condition  of  an  expectant  to  that  of  a  favoured  lover,  a 
distressing  and  very  inopportune  accident  occurred.  The  king 
summoned  Amadour  to  the  court  upon  an  affair  of  importance. 
His  wife  was  so  shocked  by  this  news  that  she  fainted,  and 
falling  down  a  flight  of  stairs,  hurt  herself  so  much  that  she  never 
recovered.  Florida,  whom  her  death  bereaved  of  all  her  con¬ 
solation,  was  as  much  afflicted  as  one  who  had  lost  all  her  good 
friends  and  relations.  Amadour  was  inconsolable,  for,  on  the 
one  hand  he  lost  one  of  the  best  of  wives,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  means  of  being  again  with  Florida ;  and  so  over¬ 
whelming  was  his  grief  that  he  was  near  dying  suddenly.  The 


/ 


Novel  io  J  Fust  Day .  63 

old  Duchess  of  Cardona  was  constantly  at  his  bedside,  repeating  * 
the  arguments  of  the  philosophers  to  console  him  ;  but  it  was  of 
no  avail,  for  if  his  grief  for  the  dead  was  great,  his  love  for  the 
living  made  him  a  martyr. 

Amadour’s  wife  being  interred,  and  the  king’s  orders  being 
pressing,  he  could  find  no  pretext  to  prolong  his  stay  ;  which 
so  augmented  his  anguish  that  he  had  like  to  lose  his  senses. 
Florida,  who,  thinking  to  console  him,  was  his  very  desolation, 
passed  a  whole  afternoon  in  conversing  with  him  in  the  most 
gracious  manner,  thinking  to  comfort  him  by  the  assurance  that 
she  would  always  find  means  to  see  him,  oftener  than  he  supposed. 
As  he  was  to  depart  on  the  following  day,  and  was  so  weak  that 
he  could  not  quit  his  bed,  he  entreated  her  to  come  again  in  the 
evening  to  see  him,  after  everyone  else  had  left  him.  She 
promised  to  do  so,  not  knowing  that  excessive  love  knows  no 
restraint  of  reason  ;  whilst  he,  desparing  for  the  future  of  seeing 
her  whom  he  had  so  long  loved,  and  of  whom  he  had  never  had 
but  what  you  have  seen,  was  so  racked  by  his  love  and  his 
despair  that  he  resolved  to  play,  as  it  vvere,  at  double  or  quits — 
that  is  to  say,  to  win  or  lose  all,  and  to  pay  himself  in  one  hour 
for  what  he  thought  he  had  merited.  He  had  his  bed  hung  with 
such  good  curtains  that  he  could  not  be  seen  by  persons  in  the 
room,  and  he  complained  more  than  usual,  so  that  everybody  in 
the  house  thought  he  had  not  four-and-twenty  hours  to  live. 

After  everyone  else  had  visited  him  in  the  evening,  Florida 
came,  at  the  request  of  her  husband  himself,  to  see  him,  her  mind 
made  up  to  console  him  by  a  declaration  of  her  affection,  and  to 
tell  him,  without  disguise  or  reserve,  that  she  was  resolved  to  love 
him  as  much  as  honour  could  allow  her.  Seated  beside  the  head 
of  his  bed,  she  began  her  consolations  by  weeping  with  him  ; 
seeing  which,  Amadour  fancied  that  in  this  great  agitation  of  her 
mind  he  could  the  more  easily  accomplish  his  purpose,  and  he 
sat  up  in  his  bed.  Florida,  thinking  he  was  too  weak  to  do  this, 
offered  to  prevent  him.  “Must  I  lose  you  for  ever?”  he  ex¬ 
claimed,  on  his  knees  ;  and  saying  this  he  let  himself  fall  into 
her  arms  like  a  man  whose  strength  suddenly  failed  him.  Poor 
Florida  embraced  and  supported  him  a  long  while,  doing  her 
best  to  comfort  him  ;  but  the  remedy  she  applied  to  assuage  his 
pain  increased  it  greatly.  Still  counterfeiting  the  appearance  of 
one  half  dead,  and  saying  not  a  word,  he  set  himself  in  quest  of 
what  the  honour  or  ladies  prohibits.  Florida,  seeing  his  bad 
intention,  but  unable  to  believe  it  after  the  laudable  language  ne 
had  always  addressed  to  her,  asked  him  \>hat  he  meant.  Ama- 


64  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  ?f  Navarre. 

dour,  fearing  to  provoke  a  reply  which  he  knew  could  not  be 
other  than  chaste  and  virtuous,  went  straight  to  his  mark  with¬ 
out  saying  a  word.  Florida’s  surprise  was  extreme,  and  choosing 
rather  to  believe  that  his  brain  was  turned  than  that  he  had  a 
deliberate  design  upon  her  virtue,  she  called  aloud  to  a  gentle¬ 
man  who  she  knew  was  in  the  room  ;  whereupon  Amadour,  in  an 
agony  of  despair,  threw  himself  back  on  his  bed  so  suddenly 
that  the  gentleman  thought  he  was  dead.  Florida,  who  had 
risen  from  her  chair,  sent  the  gentleman  to  fetch  some  vinegar, 
and  then  said  to  Amadour,  “  Are  you  mad,  Amadour  ?  What  is 
this  you  have  thought  of  doing  r” 

“  Do  such  long  services  as  mine  merit  such  cruelty?”  replied 
Amadour,  who  had  lost  all  reason  in  the  violence  of  his  love. 

“  And  where  is  that  honour  you  have  so  often  preached  to 
me  ?  ”  she  retorted. 

“  Ah,  madam,”  said  he,  “  it  is  impossible  to  love  your  honour 
more  than  I  have  done.  As  long  as  you  were  unmarried  I  so  well 
mastered  my  passion  that  you  never  were  aware  of  it  ;  but  now 
that  you  are  married  and  your  honour  is  shielded,  what  wrong 
do  1  do  you  in  asking  of  ybu  what  belongs  to  me?  For  have  I  not 
won  you  by  the  force  of  my  love  ?  The  first  who  had  your 
heart  has  so  little  coveted  your  body  that  he  deserved  to  lose 
both.  He  who  possesses  your  body  is  unworthy  to  have  your 
heart,  and  consequently  your  body  even  does  not  belong  to  him. 
But  I  have  taken  such  pains  for  your  sake  during  the  last  five  or 
six  years  that  you  cannot  but  be  aware,  madam,  that  to  me  alone 
belong  your  body  and  your  heart,  for  which  I  have  forgotten  my 
own.  If  you  think  to  excuse  youself  on  the  ground  of  con¬ 
science,  doubt  not  that  when  love  forces  the  body  and  the  heart, 
sin  is  never  imputed.  Those  even  who  are  so  infuriated  as 
to  kill  themselves  cannot  sin  ;  for  passion  leaves  no  room  for 
reason.  And  if  the  passion  of  love  is  the  most  intolerable  ot 
all  others,  and  that  which  most  blinds  all  the  senses,  what  sin 
would  you  attribute  to  him  who  lets  himself  be  led  by  an  in¬ 
vincible  power  ?  I  am  constrained  to  go  away  without  the  hope 
of  ever  seeing  you  again.  But  if  I  had  from  you  before  my 
departure  that  assurance  which  my  love  deserves,  I  should  be 
strong  enough  patiently  to  endure  the  pains  of  that  long  absence. 
If,  however,  you  will  not  grant  me  what  I  ask,  you  will  soon 
learn  that  your  rigour  has  caused  me  to  perish  miserably.” 

Florida,  equally  astonished  and  grieved  at  hearing  such 
language  from  a  man  whom  till  then  she  had  jiever  d’strusted, 
replied,  in  tears,  “  Is  this,  Amaaour,  the  end  of  all  the  virtuous 


Novel  i  o.] 


First  Day. 


65 


speeches  you  have  maae  me  during  my  youth  ?  Is  this  the 
*Ronour  and  the  conscierxce  you  have  often  coun  s^TTecf"  me  to" 
prize  more  than  rny  own  life  \  Hpvp  y mV  forgotten  the  good 

examples  you  have  given  me  of  virtuous  ladies  who  have  with¬ 
stood  criminal  love,  and  the  scorn  you  have  always  expressed  25EL_ 
~~the  wanton  ?  I  cannot  believe,  Amadour,  that  you  a’-e  so 
different  from  votirselt' that  God,  your  conscience,  and  my  honour 
are  dead  in  you.  But  if  what  you  say"  15  IPue,  1  thank  God  ~ 

^  for  having  prevented  the  misfortune  into  which  I  had  nearly 
fallen,  by  causing  your  tongue  to  make  known  to  me  the  bottom 
of  your  heart,  which  I  have  never  fathomed  till  now.  After 


losing  the  son  of  the  Fortunate  Infante,  not  only  bv  my  mar¬ 
riage,  but  also  because  I  know  he  loves  another,  and  seeing 
~myselt‘  wedded  to  a  man  1  cannot  love  fn  spite  of  all  my  efforts, 

1  had  resolved  to  love  you  wiffi  my  whole  heart  basing  mv 
rallection  on  that  virtue  which  l  thought  1  discerned  in  von,  and 
^WhiclTl  think  I  have  attained  through  your  means,  which  is  to 

^ove  my  honour  and  my  conscience  more  than  my  very  iite. 

\Vith  these  laudable  Views  I  had  come,  Amadour,  to  lay  a  good 
foundation  for  the  future  ;  but  you  have  convinced  me  that 
I  should  have  built  on  a  drifting  sand,  or  rather  on  loathsome 
mud  ;  and  though  a  great  part  of  the  house  was  already  built,  in 
which  I  hoped  perpetually  to  abide,  you  have  knocked  it  all 
down  at  a  blow  So  never  more  expect  anything  of  me  ;  and 
never  think  of  speaking  to  me,  wherever  I  may  be,  either  with 
your  tongue  or  your  eyes  ;  and  be  assured  that  my  sentiments 
will  never  change.  I  say  this  to  you  with  extreme  regret.  If  I 
had  plighted  you  a  perfect  friendship,  I  am  sure  my  heart  could 
not  have  borne  this  rupture  and  lived  ;  though,  indeed,  the 
amazement  into  which  I  am  cast  at  having  been  deceived 
is  so  intense  and  poignant  that,  if  it  does  not  cut  short  my 
life,  it  will  at  least  render  it  very  unhappy.  I  have  no  more  to 
say  but  to  bid  you  an  eternal  farewell.” 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  anguish  of  Amadour  at 
hearing  these  words.  It  would  be  impossible  not  only  to  depict 
it  but  even  to  imagine  it,  except  for  those  who  have  been 
in  a  similar  position.  As  Florida  turned  to  depart,  he  caught  her 
by  the  arm,  well  knowing  that  he  should  lose  her  tor  ever 
unless  he  removecTthe  bad  opinion  his  conduct  had  caused  her 
^to  entertain  ot  him.  rrlr~nas  been  the  longing  of  my  wlfuTe' 
madam,"  he  said,  with  the  most  sanctimonious  countenance 
he  could  assume,  “to  love  a  woman  of  virtue  ;  and  as  I  have  tound_ 

few  such.  I  w’sh£(!l  to  know  if  you  were  as  estimable  ln^that, 

- -  - 


66 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navari  e. 


respect  as  you  are  for  beauty  ;  whereof  I  am  now,  thanks  be  to 
0God,  tuliy  convinced.  I  congratulate" myseli  on  havings gl ve’n 
"my  heart  to  such  an  assemblage  of  perfections;  and  I  entreat 
you,  madam,  to  pardon  my  caprice  and  my  audacity,  since  the 
denouement  is  so  glorious  for  you,  and  yields  me  such  pleasure.” 

Florida  was  beginning  to  have  her  eyes  opened  to  the  wiles  of 
men  ;  and  as  she  had  been  slow  to  believe  evil  where  it  existed, 
she  was  still  slower  to  believe  good  where  it  was  not.  “  Would 
to  God,”  she  said,  “  that  your  words  were  true  ;  but  I  am  not  so 
ignorant  but  that  my  married  experience  shows  me  clearly  that 
the  force  and  infatuation  of  passion  have  made  you  do  what  you 
have  done.  Had  God  suffered  me  to  slacken  the  reins,  I  am 
quite  sure  you  would  not  have  tightened  them.  No  one  would 
think  of  looking  for  virtue  in  that  sort  of  way.  But  enough  of 
this.  If  I  too  lightly  gave  you  credit  for  some  goodness,  it  is 
time  I  should  know  the  truth,  which  now  delivers  me  out  of  your 
hands.”  So  saying,  she  left  the  room,  and  passed  the  whole  night 
in  tears.  The  anguish  she  felt  from  the  change  was  so  great  that 
she  could  hardly  bear  it.  Reason  told  her  she  should  cease  to 
love,  but  her  heart  told  her  quite  another  thing,  and  who  can 
master  the  heart?  Unable,  then,  to  overcome  her  love,  she 
resolved  to  cherish  it  as  warmly  as  ever,  but  to  suppress  all 
tokens  of  it  for  the  satisfaction  of  her  honour. 

Amadour  went  away  the  next  day  in  a  state  of  mind  easily 
imagined,  His  great  heart,  however,  instead  ot  letting1  him  yltMd, 
to  despair,  suggested  tr>  a  device  whereby~~he~~might 
"  again  see  Florida  and  regain  her  goodwill.  Taking  the  road  then"" 
to  Toledo,  where  the  King  of  Spain  was  residing,  he  passed 
through  the  county  of  Aranda,  arrived  late  one  evening  at  the 
countess’s  mansion,  and  found  the  countess  sick  with  grief  at  the 
absence  of  Florida.  She  kissed  and  embraced  Amadour  as 
though  he  were  her  own  son,  both  because  she  loved  him,  and 
because  she  suspected  that  he  loved  Florida.  She  asked  news 
of  her,  and  he  gave  her  as  much  as  he  could,  but  not  all  true. 
He  avowed  the  friendship  which  subsisted  between  them,  which 
Florida  had  always  concealed,  begged  her  mother  often  to  send 
him  news  of  her,  and  to  bring  her  soon  to  Aranda.  He  passed 
the  night  at  the  countess’s,  and  continued  his  journey  next  day. 

►  Having  despatched  his  business  with  the  king,  he  joined  the 
t\£  karmv.  but  looked  so  m^ncholy^nd^-XhangeiiJJiat  th^  lndip^ 
vt  ^C*and  the  captams  with  he  was  intimate  could  hardly_heljpyp 

t  aH-  Jie  was  the  same  man.  He  wore  only  black  clothes,  and  those  of  a 
•V*  much  coarser  kind  than  was  requisite  for  the  mourning  he  wore 


Novel  io.] 


y 


First  Day. 


67 


ostensibly  for  his  wife,  whose  death  served  as  a  convenient  pre¬ 
text  for  his  sadness.  Amadour  lived  in  this  way  for  three  01 
lour  years  without  returning  to  court.  The  Countess  of  Aranda, 
hearing  that  her  daughter  was  piteously  changed,  wanted  her  to 
come  back  to  her,  but  Florida  would  not ;  for  when  she  learned 
that  Amadour  had  acquainted  her  mother  with  their  mutual 
~“Tnendship.  and  tip*  h^r  mother,  though  so  di=^rppt  a»d 
r  had  so  much  confidence  in  Amadour  that  she  approved  of  it  ^h^ 
~  Wa§  In  inai  vellous  perplexity!  On  the  one  hand,  she  considered 
Thai  If  she  told  her  mother  the  truth  it  might  occasion  mischief 
to  Amadour,  which  she  would  not  have  done  for  her  life,  believing 
that  she  was  quite  able  to  punish  his  insolence  without  any  help 
from  her  relations.  On  the  other  hand,  she  foresaw  that,  if  she 
concealed  his  misconduct,  her  mother  and  her  friends  would 
oblige  her  to  speak  with  him  and  show  him  a  fair  countenance, 
and  thereby,  as  she  feared,  encourage  his  evil  intentions.  How¬ 
ever,  as  he  was  far  away,  she  said  nothing  of  what  was  past,  and 
wrote  to  him  when  the  countess  desired  her  to  do  so  ;  but  it  was 
plain  from  the  tone  of  her  letters,  that  they  were  written,  not 
from  her  spontaneous  impulses,  but  in  obedience  to  her  mother, 
so  that  Amadour  felt  pain  in  reading  them  instead  of  the  trans¬ 
ports  of  joy  with  which  he  had  formerly  received  them. 

Having  during  two  or  three  years  performed  so  many  fine 
^  ^-exploits  that  all  the  paper  in  Spain  could  not  contain  them,  he 
be  f  devised  a  grand  scheme,  not  to  regain  Florida’s  heart,  for  he^ 
believed  he  had  lost  it  wholly, Tiut  to  vanquish  his  enemy,  since 
she  declared  herseil.  Setting  aside  reason,  and  even  the 
f  y  iear  ol  death  to  which  he  exposed  himself,  he  adopted  the  fol- 
1^  lowing  course.  He  made  such  interest  with  the  governor- in¬ 
chief  that  he  was  deputed  to  go  and  report  to  the  king  respecting 
certain  enterprises  that  were  in  hand  against  Leucate ;  and, 
withou'  caring  for  the  consequences,  he  communicated  the  pur¬ 
port  of  his  journey  to  the  Countess  of  Aranda  before  he  had 
mentioned  it  to  the  king.  As  he  knew  that  Florida  was  with 
her  mother,  he  posted  to  the  countess’s,  under  pretence  of  wish¬ 
ing  to  take  her  advice,  and  sent  one  of  his  friends  before  him  to 
apprise  her  of  his  coming,  begging  she  would  not  mention  it, 
and  would  do  him  the  favour  to  speak  with  him  at  night  unknown 
to  everyone.  The  countess,  very  glad  of  this  news,  imparted  it 
to  Florida,  and  sent  her  to  undress  in  her  husband’s  room,  that 
she  might  be  ready  when  she  should  send  for  her  after  everyone 
was  in  bed.  Florida,  who  had  not  recovered  from  her  first  fear, 
taid  nothing  of  it,  however,  to  her  mother,  and  went  to  hei 


68 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Quee?i  of  Navarre. 


oratory  to  commend  herself  to  God,  and  pray  that  He  would 
guard  her  heart  from  all  weakness.  Remembering  that  Amadour 
had  often  praised  her  for  her  beauty,  which  bad  lost  nothing  by 
"her  long  illness,  she  chose  rather  to  impair  It  with  her  own  hand 
"Than  to  suffer  it  to  kindle  so  criminal  a  fire  in  the  heart  of  so"’'’ 

*  worth y""a  m^rC^To  this  end  she  took  a~stone,  which-' she" foil flth 
Cpportunely7""and  gave  herself  such  a  great  blow  with  it  on  the 
face  that  her  mouth,  eyes,  and  nose  were  quite  disfigured.  That 
it  might  not  appear  she  had  done  it  designedly,  when  the  coun¬ 
tess  sent  for  her  she  let  herself  fall  on  coming  out  of  her  oratory. 
The  countess  hearing  her  cries  hurried  to  her,  and  found  her  in 
that  sad  condition.  Florida  raised  hers<-lf  up  and  told  her  mother 
she  had  struck  her  face  against  a  great  stone.  Her  wounds  were 
immediately  dressed  and  her  face  bandaged,  after  which  her 
mother  sent  her  to  her  own  chamber,  and  begged  her  to  enter¬ 
tain  Amadour,  who  was  in  her  cabinet,  until  she  had  got  rid  of 
her  company.  Florida  obeyed,  supposing  that  Amadour  had 
some  one  with  him  :  but  when  she  found  herself  alo'ntl  WlTh"lTirn|> 

^pri  -tfi£_<ioor  closed,  she  was  as  much  vexed  as  Amadour  was 
delighted,  fancying  that  he  should  achieve,  by  fair  means  or  by 
'force,  what  he  had  so  long  coveted. 

*  Alter  a  brief  conversation,  finding  her  sentiments  unchanged, 
and  hearing  from  her  lips  a  protestation  that,  though  it  were  to  cost 
her  her  life,  she  would  never  swerve  from  the  principles  she  had 
professed  at  their  last  meeting,  he  exclaimed,  desperately,  “  By 
God,  Florida,  your  scruples  shall  not  deprive  me  of  the  fruit  of 
*ny  toils.  Since  love,  patience,  and  entreaties  are  of  no  avail, 
x  will  employ  force  to  have  that  without  which  I  should  perish,” 

Amadour’s  visage  and  his  eyes  were  so  changed  that  the 
handsomest  complexion  in  the  world  was  become  red  as  fire,  and 
the  mildest  and  most  agreeable  aspect  so  horrible  and  furious 
that  it  seemed  as  though  the  fire  in  his  heart  blazed  out  through 
his  eyes.  In  his  rage  he  had  seized  both  Florida’s  delicate 
hands  in  his  strong  gripe,  and  finding  herself  deprived  of  all 
means  of  defence  or  flight,  she  thought  the  only  chance  left  her 
was  to  try  if  his  former  love  was  so  extinct  that  it  could  not  dis¬ 
arm  his  cruelty.  “  If  I  must  now  look  upon  you  as  an  enemy. 
Amadour,  she  sai'fl, T  ^qpJTr^v^ii,  hy  fhp  virtuous  love  with 
which  I  formerly  believed  your  heart  was  animated,  at  leasTTc) 
near  me  before  you  do  me  violence.  What  can  possess  you, 
Amadour,1’ she  said,  “seeing  that  he  listened  to  her,  "to  desire  a 
thing  that  can  give  you  no  pleasure,  and  would  overwhelm  me 
with  grief  ?  You  have  so  well  known  my  sentiments  during  my 


-9 


Novel  io.J  ^  First  Day. 

youth  and  my  prime,  which  might  have  served  as  an  excuse  for 
your  passion,  that  I  wonder  how,  at  my  present  age,  and  ugly  as 
you  see  I  am,  you  seek  for  that  which  you  know  you  cannot  find. 
I  am  sure  you  do  not  doubt  that  my  sentiments  are  still  the 
same,  and,  consequently,  that  nothing  but  violence  can  enable 
you  to  obtain  your  wishes.  Look  at  the  state  of  my  face,  forget 
the  beauty  you  have  seen  in  it,  and  you  will  lose  all  desire  to 
approach  me.  If  there  is  any  remnant  of  love  in  your  heart,  it 
is  impossible  but  that  pity  shall  prevail  over  your  rage.  It  is  to 
your  pity,  and  to  the  virtue  of  which  you  have  given  me  so  many 
proofs,  that  I  appeal  for  mercy.  Do  not  destroy  my  peace  of 
mind,  and  make  no  attempt  upon  my  honour,  which,  in  accord¬ 
ance  with  your  counsel,  I  am  resolved  to  preserve.  If  the  love 
you  had  for  me  has  degenerated  into  hate,  and  you  design  from 
vindictiveness  rather  than  affection  to  make  me  the  most  miserable 
woman  on  earth,  I  declare  to  you  that  it  shall  not  be  so,  and  that 
you  will  force  me  to  complain  openly  of  your  vicious  conduct 
to  her  who  is  so  prejudiced  in  your  favour.  If  you  reduce  me 
to  this  extremity,  consider  that  your  life  is  not  safe.” 

“  If  I  must  die,”  replied  Amadour,  “  a  moment  will  put  an  end 
to  all  my  troubles  ;  but  the  disfigurement  of  your  face,  which  I 
believe  is  your  own  work,  shall  not  hinder  me  from  doing  what 
I  am  resolved  ;  for  though  I  could  have  nothing  of  you  but 
your  bones,  I  would  have  them  close  to  me.” 

Finding  that  entreaties,  arguments,  and  tears  were  useless, 
Florida  had  recourse  to  what  she  feared  as  much  as  the  loss  of 
life,  and  screamed  out  as  loudly  as  she  could  to  her  mother. 
The  countess,  on  hearing  her  cries,  at  once  suspected  the  truth, 
and  hastened  to  her  with  the  utmost  promptitude.  Amadour, 
who  was  not  so  near  dying  as  he  said,  let  go  his  hold  so  quickly 
that  the  countess,  on  opening  the  cabinet,  found  him  at  the  door, 
and  Florida  far  enough  away  from  him.  “  What  is  the  matter, 
Amadour  ?  ”  said  the  countess.  “  Tell  me  the  truth.”  Amadour, 
who  was  prepared  beforehand,  and  was  never  at  a  loss  for  an 
expedient  at  need,  answered,  with  a  pale  and  woebegone  counten¬ 
ance,  “Alas!  madam,  I  no  longer  recognize  Florida.  Never 
was  man  more  surprised  than  1  am.  I  thought,  as  I  told  you, 
that  I  had  some  share  in  her  goodwill,  but  now  I  see  plainly  I 
have  no  longer  any.  Methinks,  madam,  that  whilst  she  lived 
with  you  she  was  neither  less  discreet  nor  less  virtuous  than  she 
is  now  ;  but  she  had  no  squeams  of  conscience  to  hinder  her 
from  talking  to  people  and  looking  them  in  the  face.  I  wanted 
to  look  at  her,  but  she  would  not  allow  it.  Seeing  this,  I  though 


70 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

I  must  be  in  a  dream  or  a  trance,  and  I  aaked  leave  to  kiss  her 
hand,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  but  she  absolutely 
refused  it.  It  is  true,  madam,  I  have  done  wrong,  and  I  crave 
your  pardon  for  it,  in  taking  her  hand  and  kissing  it  in  a  manner 
by  force.  I  asked  nothing  more  of  her,  but  I  see  plainly  that 
she  is  resolved  upon  my  death,  and  that,  I  believe,  is  why  she 
called  you,  Perhaps  she  was  afraid  I  had  some  other  design 
upon  her.  Be  that  as  it  may,  madam,  I  acknowledge  I  was 
wrong  ;  for  though  she  ought  to  love  all  your  good  servants, 
such  is  my  ill-luck,  that  I  have  no  part  in  her  goodwill.  My 
heart  will  not  change  for  all  that,  with  regard  either  to  her  or  to 
you  ;  and  I  entreat  you,  madam,  to  let  me  retain  your  goodwill, 
since  I  have  lost  hers  without  deserving  it.” 

The  countess,  who  partly  believed  and  partly  doubted,  asked 
her  why  she  had  called  out  so  loudly.  Florida  replied  that  she 
did  so  because  she  was  frightened.  The  countess  asked  her 
many  other  questions,  and  never  got  any  but  the  same  reply  ;  for 
having  escaped  from  her  enemy,  Florida  thought  him  sufficiently 
punished  by  the  disappointment.  After  the  countess  had  con¬ 
versed  a  long  time  with  Amadour,  she  let  him  talk  again  with 
Florida  in  her  presence,  in  order  to  see  how  he  would  look  ;  but 
he  said  little  to  her,  and  contented  himself  with  thanking  her  for 
not  having  told  her  mother,  and  begging  her  that  at  least,  since 
he  was  banished  from  her  heart,  another  might  not  profit  by  his 
disgrace.  “If  I  could  have  defended  myself  in  any  other  way,” 
said  Florida,  “all  would  have  passed  between  our  two  selves. 
You  shall  be  let  off  with  this,  unless  you  force  me  to  do  worse. 
Do  not  be  afraid  that  I  shall  ever  love  ;  for  since  1  have  been 
deceived  in  my  judgment  of  a  heart  which  I  thought  was  full  of 
virtue,  I  shall  never  believe  that  a  man  exists  who  is  worthy  to 
be  trusted.  This  misfortune  will  make  me  banish  for  ever  from 
my  breast  all  passions  which  love  can  occasion.”  So  saying,  she 
took  leave  of  him. 

Her  mother,  who  had  been  watching  them,  could  come  to  no 
conclusion,  evrppt  ihat  she  saw  clearly  fhat  her  daughter  had  rib 
longer  any  friendship  for  Amarlnur.  She  thought  thlsT ^unreason¬ 
able,  and  that  it  was  enough  for  herself  to  like  anyone  to  make 
Florida  conceive  an  aversion  for  that  person.  From  that 
moment  she  was  so  displeased  with  her  that  for  seven  years  she 
never  spoke  to  her  but  with  asperity,  and  all  this  at  the  solici¬ 
tation  of  Amadour.  Florida,  who  had  formerly  shunned  nothing 
so  much  as  her  husband’s  presence,  resolved  to  pass  all  her 
life  by  his  side,  to  avoid  her  mother’s  harshness  ;  but  seeing 


N'ovel  io.]  First  Day,  71 

that  nothing  succeeded  with  her,  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
deceive  Amadour.  To  this  end  she  pretended  to  be  more  tract¬ 
able,  and  advised  him  to  attach  himself  to  a  lady  to  whom  she 
said  she  had  spoken  of  their  mutual  love.  This  lady,  who  was  in 
the  queen’s  household,  and  whose  name  was  Loretta,  delighted 
at  having  made  such  a  conquest,  was  so  little  mistress  of  her 
transports  that  the  affair  became  noised  abroad.  The  Countess 
of  Aranda  herself,  being  at  court,  became  aware  of  it,  and  after¬ 
wards  treated  Florida  with  more  gentleness.  Loretta’s  husband, 
who  was  a  captain,  and  one  of  the  King  of  Spain’s  great 
governors,  was  so  incensed  that  he  was  resolved  to  kill  Amadour 
at  all  hazards  ;  but  Florida,  who  heard  of  this,  and,  in  spite  of 
herself,  still  loved  Amadour,  instantly  gave  him  warning.  Eager 
as  he  was  to  return  to  her,  he  replied  that  if  she  would  grant 
him  every  day  three  hours’  conversation,  he  would  never  speak 
another  word  to  Loretta  ;  but  she  would  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 
“  Since,  then,  you  do  not  wish  me  to  live,”  said  Amadour,  “  why 
would  you  hinder  me  from  dying,  unless  you  hope  to  make  me 
suffer  more  in  living  than  the  pain  of  a  thousand  deaths  ?  Let 
death  fly  me  as  it  will,  I  will  seek  it,  so  that  at  last  I  shall  find  it, 
and  then  only  I  shall  be  at  rest.” 

Meanwhile,  news  arrived  that  the  King  of  Grenada  had  begun 
hostilities  against  the  King  of  Spain,  which  obliged  the  king  to 
send  his  son  thither  with  the  Constable  of  Castile  and  the  Duke 
of  Alva,  two  old  and  sage  lords.  The  Duke  of  Cardona  and  the 
Count  of  Aranda  desired  to  take  part  in  the  campaign,  and 
begged  the  king  to  give  them  some  command.  The  king  gave 
them  appointments  suitable  to  their  quality,  and  desired  they 
should  act  under  the  advice  of  Amadour,  who  performed  during 
.  the  war  such  astonishing  acts  as  testified  as  much  desperation 
as  valour.  His  desperate  rashness  at  last  cost  him  his  life. 
The  Moors,  having  offered  battle,  gave  way  before  the  charge  of 
the  Spaniards,  and  made  a  feint  of  flying,  in  order  to  draw  on 
the  Christian  army  to  pursue  them.  Their  stratagem  succeeded. 
The  old  Constable  and  the  Duke  of  Alva,  suspecting  it,  detained 
the  Prince  of  Spain  against  his  will,  and  hindered  him  from 
passing  the  river;  but  the  Count  of  Aranda  and  the  Duke  of 
Cardona  crossed  it  in  defiance  of  orders  to  the  contrary.  The 
Moors,  finding  themselves  pursued  only  by  a  small  body,  wheeled 
round.  The  Duke  of  Cardona  was  killed  with  a  scimitar,  and 
the  Count  of  Aranda  was  so  dangerously  wounded  that  he  was 
left  for  dead  on  the  field.  Amadour,  coming  up,  cleft  his  way 
through  the  melee  with  such  fury  that  one  would  have  said  he 


72  The  Ileptameron  of  the  Queecn  of  Navarre. 

was  a  maniac,  and  had  the  bodies  of  the  duke  and  the  count 
carried  to  the  camp  of  the  prince,  who  regretted  them  as  if  they 
had  been  his  own  brothers.  On  examining  their  wounds,  it  was 
found  that  the  Count  of  Aranda  was  not  dead.  He  was  laid  on 
a  litter  and  carried  home,  where  he  lay  ill  for  a  long  time,  d  he 
body  of  the  young  duke  was  transported  to  Cardona.  After  res¬ 
cuing  the  two  bodies,  Amadour  took  so  little  care  of  his  own 
person  that  he  let  himself  be  surrounded  by  a  great  number  of 
Moors.  Knowing,  then,  that  if  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
King  of  Grenada  he  should  die  a  cruel  death,  unless  he  renounced 
the  Christian  religion,  he  resolved  not  to  give  his  enemies  the 
glory  of  his  death  or  his  capture,  but  to  surrender  up  his  body 
and  his  soul  to  God  ;  and  kissing  the  cross  of  his  sword,  he 
plunged  it  into  his  body  with  such  force  that  no  second  blow 
was  needed. 

Thus  died  poor  Amadour,  as  much  regretted  as  his  virtues 
deserved.  The  news  instantly  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth  all 
over  Spain.  Florida,  who  was  then  at  Barcelona,  where  her 
husband  had  foimerly  directed  that  he  should  be  buried,  after 
having  caused  his  obsequies  to  be  performed  with  pomp, 
retired  into  the  convent  of  Jesus,  without  saying  a  word  to  her 
mother  or  her  mother-in-law,  taking  for  her  spouse  and  lover  Him 
who  had  delivered  her  from  a  love  so  violent  as  that  of  Amadour, 
and  from  the  distress  caused  her  by  the  society  of  such  a  hus¬ 
band.  Her  sole  subsequent  occupation  and  care  was  to  love  God 
so  perfectly  that,  after  having  been  a  long  time  a  nun,  she  sur¬ 
rendered  up  her  soul  to  him  with  the  joy  with  which  a  bride 
meets  her  husband.* 

I  am  afraid,  ladies,  you  have  found  this  long  story  tedious  ; 
but  it  would  have  been  still  longer  if  I  had  given  it  as  it  was  told 

*  “We  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  this  novel- was  suggested  to  the 
Queen  of  Navarre  by  some  actual  occurrence  at  the  court  of  Charles  VI 1 1.  and 
Louis  XII.  Whilst  disguising  the  names  of  the  principal  actors,  the  princess 
has  yet  intermingled  real  events  with  her  narrative.  The  beginningof  the  novel 
might  even  lead  us  to  surmise  that  Margaret  alludes  in  it  to  something  in  which 
she  was  personally  concerned.  The  Countess  of  Aranda,  left  a  very  young 
widow,  with  a  son  and  daughter ,  is  very  like  Louise  of  Savoy  and  her  two 
children.  This,  however,  is  a  mere  conjecture  of  ours,  on  which  we  by  no 
means  insist. 

“  For  those  who  would  like  to  attempt  the  solution  of  this  little  historical 
problem,  we  subjoin  a  list  of  some  facts  which  occurred  at  the  period  in  which 
the  Queen  of  Navarre  places  her  story. 

»(  Taking  of  Salces  by  the  French  in  1496.  Don  Henry  of  Aragon,  Cou&i 


Novel  io.]  First  Day.  73 

to  me.  Imitate  Florida’s  virtues,  ladies,  but  be  not  so  cruel ; 
and  never  esteem  men  so  highly,  lest,  when  you  are  undeceived, 
you  bring  upon  them  a  miserable  death,  and  a  life  of  sorrow  upon 
yourselves. 

“  Do  you  not  think,”  said  Parlamente,  turning  to  Hircan, 
“that  this  lady  was  tried  to  the  utmost,  and  that  she  resisted 
virtuously  ?” 

“No,”  he  replied;  “for  the  least  resistance  a  woman  can 
decently  make  is  to  cry  out.  But  what  would  she  have  done  if 
she  had  been  in  a  place  where  she  could  not  be  heard  ?  Besides, 
if  Amadour  had  not  been  more  swayed  by  fear  than  by  love,  he 
would  not  so  easily  have  given  up.  So  I  still  maintain  that  no 
man  ever  loved  heartily,  and  was  loved  in  return,  who  did  not 
obtain  what  he  sought  if  he  went  t'le  right  way  about  it  I  must, 
however,  applaud  Amadour  for  having  in  part  done  his  duty.” 

“  Duty  ?”  said  Oisille.  “  Do  you  think  that  a  servant  does  his 
duty  in  offering  violence  to  his  mistress,  to  whom  he  owes  all 
respect  and  obedience?” 

“When  our  mistresses,  madam,”  replied  Saffrendent,  “hold 
their  rank  in  chamber  or  hall,  seated  at  their  ease  as  our  judges, 
we  are  on  our  knees  before  them  ;  we  timidly  lead  them  out  to 
dance,  and  serve  them  with  so  much  diligence  that  we  anticipate 
their  commands  ;  we  have  so  much  fear  of  offending  them,  and 
so  much  desire  to  serve  them  well,  that  no  one  can  look  upon  us 
without  compassion.  We  are  often  thought  more  witless  than 

of  Ribagorce,  was  then  Viceroy  of  Catalonia,  and  Don  Henry  Henriquez 
Governor  of  Rousillon. — Truce  between  France  and  Spain  in  1497. — Revolt  at 
Grenada  in  1499. — In  1500,  revolt  of  the  Moors  in  the  Alpujarras  ;  King 
Ferdinand  marches  against  them  in  person. — In  1501,  defeat  of  the  Spaniards, 
in  which  were  killed  Don  Alfonso  de  Aguilar,  Pedro  de  Sandoval,  &c.,  &c. 
The  Duke  of  Najera  is  sent  against  him. — In  1503  a  Moorish  fleet,  consisting 
of  ten  Jlustes ,  ravages  the  coasts  of  Catalonia.  That  same  year  King  Ferdi¬ 
nand  burns  Leucate. — In  1513,  the  King  of  Spain,  to  appease  the  feud  existing 
between  the  Count  of  Ribagorce  and  the  Count  of  Aranda,  commissions 
Father  Juan  de  Estuniga,  Provincial  of  the  Order  of  St.  Francis,  to  effect  an 
agreement  between  them  by  means  of  a  mariiage  between  the  eldest  daughter 
of  Count  Aranda  and  the  eldest  son  of  the  Count  of  Ribagorce.  1  he  latter 
refuses,  and  is  banished  the  realm.  As  for  the  son  of  the  Fortunate  Infante, 
this  must  be  Don  Alfonso  of  Aragon,  Count  of  Ribagorce,  Duke  of  Segovia, 
sole  male  heir  of  the  house  of  Castile,  proposed  in  1506  as  husband  for  Jane 
the  Crazed.  His  father,  Henry  of  Aragon,  Duke  of  Segovia,  was  surnamed  the 
Injante  of  Fortune,  because  he  was  born  in  1445.  after  the  death  of  his  father. 

"  Such  are  the  events  which  the  Queen  of  Navarre  has  mixed  up  with 
a  narrative  in  which  she  declares  that  she  has  changed  names,  places,  «*<j! 
countries."  —B.  lliophiles  Fran  (at  s. 


7  4  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

brutes,  and  people  praise  the  proud  spirit  of  our  ladies,  who  look 
so  imperious,  and  speak  with  so  much  good  breeding,  that  they 
make  themselves  feared,  loved,  and  esteemed  by  those  who  see 
only  the  outside.  But  in  private,  where  there  is  no  other  judge 
than  love,  we  know  very  well  that  they  are  women  and  we  are 
men.  The  name  of  mistress  is  then  changed  to  that  of  friend, 
and  he  who  was  a  servant  in  public  becomes  a  friend  in  a  tete-h- 
t&te.  Thence  comes  the  old  proverb  : — 

Well  to  serve  and  loyal  to  be, 

Raiseth  a  servant  to  mastery. 

Of  honour  they  have  as  much  as  men,  who  can  give  it  them  and 
take  it  away  ;  and  as  they  see  we  suffer  with  patience,  it  is  just 
that  they  should  indemnify  us  when  they  can  do  so  without 
damage  to  their  honour.” 

“You  do  not  speak,”  said  Longarine,  “of  that  true  honour 
which  is  the  most  perfect  contentment  that  can  be  had  in  this 
world.  Though  all  the  world  believed  me  a  virtuous  woman,  and 
I  alone  knew  the  contrary,  the  praises  of  others  would  but  in¬ 
crease  my  shame  and  my  secret  confusion.  On  the  other  hand, 
were  all  mankind  to  condemn  me,  whilst  my  conscience  was  free 
from  all  reproach,  I  should  derive  a  sort  of  pleasure  from  calumny, 
so  true  it  is  that  virtue  is  never  wholly  unhappy.” 

“  Though  you  have  left  nothing  to  say,”  observed  Geburon, 
“  you  will  permit  me  to  remark  that  I  regard  Amadour  as  the 
most  worthy  and  most  virtuous  of  cavaliers.  Though  he  has  been 
given  a  feigned  name,  I  think,  nevertheless,  that  I  recognize  him  ; 
but  since  others  have  not  named  him,  neither  will  I.  I  will  only 
say  that  if  he  is  the  same  as  I  suppose,  never  was  his  heart  sus¬ 
ceptible  of  fear,  or  exempt  from  love.” 

“It  strikes  me,”  said  Oisille,  “that  this  day  has  passed  so 
agreeably  that,  if  this  continues,  our  time  will  seem  very  short. 
The  sun  is  already  low,  and  vespers  have  been  rung  at  the 
Abbey  this  long  time.  I  did  not  tell  you  so  before,  because  I  was 
less  desirous  to  hear  vespers  than  to  know  the  end  of  the  story.” 

Hereupon  everybody  rose,  and  proceeding  to  the  abbey  they 
found  that  the  monks  had  been  waiting  for  them  for  more  than 
an  hour.  After  vespers  they  supped.  The  evening  was  not 
passed  without  discusing  the  tales  that  had  been  told  in  the  day, 
and  reviewing  in  memory  the  means  of  making  the  next  day 
pass  as  agreeably  as  the  first.  After  no  end  of  sports  in  the 
meadow,  everyone  went  to  bed  highly  gratified  by  the  way  in 
which  their  first  day  had  been  spent. 


Novel  n.] 


I 


First  Day. 


>5 


SECOND  DAY. 

EXT  day,  the  party  rose  betimes,  eager  to  return  to  the 
spot  where  they  had  had  so  much  pleasure.  Everyone 
had  his  tale  ready,  and  was  impatient  to  bring  it  forth. 
After  having  heard  Madame  Oisille’s  reading  and  at¬ 
tended  mass,  dinner  was  the  next  affair,  during  which  they  also 
recalled  to  mind  many  a  storv. 

After  dinner  they  went  to  rest  in  their  chambers,  and  at  the 
appointed  hour  everyone  repaired  to  the  meadow,  where  it  seemed 
that  the  weather  and  the  day  expressly  favoured  their  design. 
After  they  were  all  seated  on  verdant  couches  prepared  by 
nature’s  own  hands,  Parlamente  said,  “Since  I  was  the  last  speaker 
yesterday,  it  is  for  me  to  select  the  lady  who  shall  begin  this  day’s 
proceedings.  Those  of  yesterday  having  been  opened  by  Madame 
Oisille,  the  sagest  and  eldest  lady  present,  I  give  my  vote  to  day 
to  the  youngest — I  do  not  say  to  the  most  light-witted,  for  I  am 
sure  that  if  we  all  follow  her  example,  the  monks  will  not  have 
to  wait  so  long  to  say  vespers  as  they  did  yesterday.  I  call  upon 
you,  Nomertide,  but  I  beg  you  will  not  make  us  begin  the  day 
with  tears.” 

“  There  was  no  need  to  give  me  that  caution,”  said  Nomerfide  ; 
**  for  one  of  our  companions  has  made  me  choose  a  tale,  which  I 
have  set  so  fast  in  my  head  that  I  could  not  tell  any  other;  and 
it  it  engenders  sadness  in  you,  why  then  your  nature  must  be 
very  melancholy.” 


NOVEL  XI. 

/vii  odorous  adventure  which  befell  Madame  de  Roncex  at  the  Franciscan 

Monastery  of  Thouars. 

N  the  household  of  Madame  de  La  Tremouille  there  was  a 
lady  named  Roncex,  who  one  day,  when  her  mistress  had 
gone  to  the  Cordeliers,  had  a  pressing  need  to  go  to  the 
place  to  which  she  could  not  send  her  waiting-woman. 
She  took  with  her  a  girl  named  La  Mothe  to  keep  her  company,  but 
from  bashfulness  and  desire  of  secrecy  left  her  in  the  chamber,  and 
entered  alone  into  a  very  dark  privy,  which  was  common  to  all 
the  Cordeliers;  and  they  had  rendered  such  good  account  there 
of  all  their  victuals  that  the  whole  place,  the  seat  and  the  door, 


76  The  Ileptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

was  covered  with  must  of  Bacchus  and  Ceres,  passed  through 
the  bellies  of  the  Cordeliers.  The  poor  woman,  who  was  so  hard 
pressed  that  she  had  scarcely  time  to  tuck  up  her  skirts  to  sit 
down,  unluckily  seated  herself  on  the  filthiest  spot  in  the  whole 
place,  and  there  she  stuck  as  if  she  had  been  glued  to  it,  and  her 
poor  buttocks,  garments,  and  feet  were  so  bewrayed  that  she 
durst  not  step  or  turn  any  way  for  fear  of  making  herself  still 
worse.  Thereupon  she  began  to  cry  out,  as  loud  as  she  could, 
“La  Mothe,  my  dear,  I  am  undone  and  dishonoured!”  The 
poor  girl,  who  had  heard  sundry  tales  of  the  wickedness  of  the 
Cordeliers,  suspecting  that  some  of  them  were  hid  there,  and 
wanted  to  violate  the  lady,  ran  as  fast  as  she  could,  saying  to 
everyone  she  met,  “  Come  and  help  Madame  de  Roncex  ;  the 
Cordeliers  want  to  ravish  her  in  that  privy.”  They  ran  to  the 
place  with  all  speed,  and  found  the  poor  dame  De  Roncex  crying 
for  help,  desiring  to  have  some  woman  who  could  clean  her,  and 
with  her  hinder  parts  all  uncovered,  for  she  was  afraid  to  touch 
them  with  her  garments  lest  she  should  befoul  them.  Rushing  in 
at  her  cries,  the  gentlemen  beheld  that  fine  spectacle,  and  found 
no  Cordelier  molesting  her,  but  only  the  ordure  with  which  all 
her  posteriors  were  glued.  This  did  not  pass  without  laughter 
on  their  part  or  great  shame  on  hers  ;  for,  instead  of  having 
women  to  clean  her,  she  was  waited  on  by  men,  who  saw  her 
naked  in  the  worst  condition  in  which  a  woman  could  show  her¬ 
self.  Thereupon  she  dropped  her  clothes,  and  so  dirtied  what 
was  still  clean,  forgetting  the  filth  she  was  in  for  the  shame  she 
felt  at  seeing  men.  When  she  was  out  of  that  nasty  place,  it  was 
necessary  to  strip  her  stark  naked,  and  change  all  her  clothes 
before  she  left  the  monastery.  She  was  very  much  disposed  to 
resent  the  help  which  La  Mothe  had  brought  her,  but  under¬ 
standing  that  the  poor  girl  believed  her  case  was  still  worse,  she 
forgot  her  anger  and  laughed  like  the  rest. 

Methinks,  ladies,  this  story  has  been  neither  long  nor  melan¬ 
choly,  and  that  you  have  had  from  me  what  you  expected. 

The  company  laughed  heartily  at  her  story,  and  Oisille  said  to 
her,  “  Though  the  tale  is  nasty  and  dirty,  we  cannot  object  to  it, 
knowing  the  persons  to  whom  it  happened.  Well,  I  should  have 
been  very  glad  to  see  the  faces  worn  by  La  Mothe  and  by  her  to 
whom  she  brought  such  good  aid.  But  since  you  have  ended 
so  soon,  give  your  voice  to  some  one  who  does  not  think  with 
such  levity.” 

“  If  you  would  have  my  fault  repaired,"  replied  Nomerfide, 


Novel  ii.]  Seco?id Day.  77 

“  I  give  my  voice  to  Dagoucin,  who  is  so  discreet  that  for  his 
life  he  would  not  utter  a  folly.” 

Dagoucin  thanked  her  for  the  favourable  opinion  she  enter¬ 
tained  of  his  good  sense,  and  said,  “  The  story  I  propose  to 
relate  will  serve  to  show  how  love  infatuates  the  greatest  and 
worthiest  hearts,  and  how  difficult  it  is  to  overcome  wickedness 
by  dint  of  kindness.” 

[The  preceding  novel  and  epilogue,  which  are  found  in  all  the  manuscripts 
consulted  by  the  Bibliophiles  Fran  pais,  are  the  nineteenth  of  the  edition  of 
15^8.  They  are  suppressed  in  that  of  1559,  and  in  all  the  subsequent  editions* 
rveept  that  of  1853,  and  the  following  substituted  for  them.] 

Facetious  Sayings  of  a  Cordelier  in  his  Sermons. 

EAR  the  town  of  Bler£,  in  Touraine,  there  is  a  village 
named  Martin  le  Beau,  where  a  Cordelier  of  Tours  was 
called  on  to  preach  the  Advent  and  Lent  sermons,  This 
Cordelier,  who  had  more  gabble  than  learning,  finding 
himself  sometimes  short  of  matter,  would  contrive  to  eke  out  his 
hour  by  telling  tales,  which  were  not  altogether  disagreeable  to 
the  good  villagers.  Preaching  on  Holy  Thursday,  on  the  Pascal 
Lamb,  when  he  had  to  state  that  it  was  eaten  by  night,  seeing 
among  the  congregation  some  handsome  young  ladies  newly 
arrived  from  Amboise  with  the  intention  of  spending  Easter  at 
the  village,  he  wished  to  surpass  himself,  and  asked  all  the  women 
if  they  knew  what  it  was  to  eat  raw  meat  at  night.  “  If  you 
don’t,  I  will  fell  you,  ladies,”  said  he.  The  young  men  of 
Amboise,  who  had  come,  some  with  their  wives,  others  with  their 
sisters  and  nieces,  and  who  were  not  acquainted  with  the  pil¬ 
grim’s  humour,  began  to  be  scandalised;  but  after  having  heard 
him  further,  instead  of  being  shocked,  they  laughed,  especially 
when  he  told  them  that  to  eat  the  Pascal  Lamb  it  was  necessary 
to  have  one’s  loins  girt,  one’s  feet  in  one’s  shoes,  and  a  hand  on 
one’s  staff.  The  Cordelier,  seeing  them  laugh,  and  guessing  why, 
immediately  corrected  himself.  “Well,  then,  shoes  on  one’s  feet, 
and  one’s  staff  in  his  hand,”  said  he.  “Buttered  bread,  and 
bread  buttered — is  it  not  all  one  ?  ”  How  this  was  received  I 
leave  you  to  guess.  The  Cordelier,  perceiving  that  his  hour  was 
nearly  out,  made  new  efforts  to  divert  the  ladies,  and  gave  them 
reason  to  be  pleased  with  him.  “  By-and-by,  ladies,”  he  said  to 
them,  “when  you  are  chatting  with  your  gossips,  you  will  ask 
them,  *  Who  is  this  master  friar  who  speaks  so  boldly  ?  He  is  a 
jovial  companion,  I  warrant.’  I  tell  you  ladies,  be  not  astonished 
—-no,  be  not  astonished  if  I  speak  boldly,  for  I  am  of  Anjou,  at 


78  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

your  service.”  So  saying  he  ended  his  sermon,  leaving  his 
audience  more  disposed  to  laugh  at  his  absurdities  than  to  weep 
over  the  Passion  of  our  Lord,  the  commemoration  of  which  they 
were  then  celebrating. 

His  other  sermons  during  the  holidays  were  pretty  much  of  the 
like  efficacy.  You  know  that  the  brethren  of  that  order  do  not 
forget  to  go  about  making  their  collections  to  get  them  their 
Easter  eggs,  as  they  say.  Not  only  have  they  no  lack  of  these, 
but  people  give  them  besides  many  other  things,  such  as  linen, 
yarn,  chitterlings,  hams,  chines,  and  so  forth.  On  Easter  Tues¬ 
day,  when  he  was  making  his  exhortations  to  charity,  of  which 
people  of  his  sort  are  no  niggards,  he  said,  “  I  am  bound,  ladies, 
to  thank  you  for  the  charities  you  have  bestowed  on  our  poor 
convent,  but  I  cannot  help  remarking  to  you  that  you  have  not 
duly  considered  our  wants.  You  have  given  us,  for  the  most 
part,  nothing  but  chitterlings,  of  which,  thanks  be  to  God,  we 
have  no  scarcity,  the  convent  being  choke-full  of  them.  What 
shall  we  do,  then,  with  such  lots  of  chitterlings  ?  Do  you  know 
what  we  shall  do  with  them  ?  It  is  my  advice,  ladies,  that  you 
mix  your  hams  with  our  chitterlings,  and  you  will  make  a  fine 
alms.” 

Then,  continuing  his  sermon,  he  contrived  to  introduce  the 
subject  of  scandal.  After  having  expatiated  upon  it  and  adduced 
some  examples,  he  cried  out,  with  warmth,  “I  am  surprised, 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  St.  Martin,  that  you  are  scandalised  at  a 
thing  that  is  less  than  nothing,  and  that  you  make  a  talk  of  me 
everywhere  without  reason,  saying,  ‘Who  would  have  thought  it 
of  the  father,  that  he  should  have  got  his  landlady’s  daughter 
with  child  ?  ’  That  is  a  thing  to  be  astonished  about,  truly.  A 
monk  has  got  a  girl  with  child.  What  a  wonder !  But  hark 
you,  fair  ladies,  would  you  not  have  reason  to  be  much  more 
surprised  if  the  girl  had  got  the  monk  with  child  ?” 

Such,  ladies,  were  the  precious  viands  with  which  this  good 
shepherd  fed  the  Lord’s  flock.  So  shameless  was  he,  that  after 
the  commission  of  his  sin,  he  had  the  impudence  to  speak  of  it 
in  the  pulpit,  where  nothing  should  be  uttered  but  what  is  edify¬ 
ing  to  one’s  neighbour,  and  tends,  in  the  first  place,  to  the  glory 
of  God. 

“  That  was  what  you  may  call  a  master-monk,”  said  Saffre- 
dent.  “  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  choose  between  him  and  Friar 
Angebaut,  at  whose  door  were  laid  all  the  facetious  things  that 
were  said  in  good  company.” 


Novel  ii.]  --  Second  Day.  79 

"  I  see  no  matter  for  laughter  ir.  all  this,”  said  Oisille,  “  nor  is 
the  circumstance  of  the  time  to  the  monk’s  advantage.” 

“  You  omit  to  say,  madam,”  observed  Nomerfide,  **  that  a. 
that  time,  although  the  thing  happened  not  very  long  ago,  your 
honest  vilagers,  nay,  most  of  the  people  even  of  the  good  towns, 
who  think  themselves  cleverer  than  the  others,  had  more  regard 
for  such  preachers  than  for  those  who  preached  to  them  the  holy 
Gospel  purely  and  simply.” 

“  Be  that  as  it  may,”  said  Hircan,  “  he  was  not  far  wrong  in 
asking  for  hams  in  exchange  for  chitterlings,  for  there  is  a  great 
deal  more  eating  in  them.  If  any  devout  dame  had  understood 
the  thing  amphibologically,  as  I  believe  the  monk  intended, 
neither  he  nor  his  brethren  would  have  been  badly  off,  any  more 
than  the  young*  wench  who  had  her  bag  full.” 

'•  What  effrontery  !”  exclaimed  Oisille,  “  to  pervert  the  sense 
of  the  text  according  to  his  caprice,  thinking  he  had  to  do  with 
people  as  brutalised  as  himself,  and  impudently  endeavouring  to 
corrupt  silly  women,  in  order  to  teach  them  to  eat  raw  meat  at 
night.” 

“  Ay,”  said  Simontault,  “but  then  he  had  before  him  those 
young  tripesellers  of  Amboise,  in  whose  tub  he  would  fain  have 

washed  his - Shall  I  say  what  ?  No,  you  understand  me. 

He  would  gladly  have  given  them  a  taste  of  it.  not  roasted,  but 
all  stirring  and  frisking  to  give  them  the  more  pleasure.” 

“Gently,  gently,  Seigneur  Simontault,”  said  Parlamente ; 
“you  forget  yourself.  Where  is  your  usual  modesty,  of  which 
you  can  make  such  good  use  at  need  ?” 

“True,  madam,  but  the  foul-mouthed  monk  made  me  equivo¬ 
cate.  To  return  to  our  first  proceedings.  I  beg  that  Nomerfide, 
who  is  the  cause  of  my  error,  will  give  her  voice  to  some  one 
who  will  make  us  forget  our  common  fault.” 

“  Since  you  will  have  it  that  I  am  a  sharer  in  the  fault,”  said 
Nomerfide,  “I  will  choose  one  who  will  set  all  right  again  ;  and 
that  is  Dagoucin,  who  is  so  well  behaved  that  he  would  rather 
die  than  say  anything  improper.” 

Dagoucin  thanked  her  for  her  good  opinion.  “The  story  I 
am  going  to  relate,”  he  said,  “  is  calculated  to  show  you  how  love 
infatuates  the  greatest  and  the  best,  and  how  difficult  it  is  tc 
overcome  wickedness  Yy  dint  of  kindness.” 


8c  The  Heptameroi *  uj  the  Queen  of  Afavarrt. 

NOVEL  XII. 

Incontinence  and  tyranny  of  a  duke  of  Florence — Just  punishment  of  his 

wickedness. 

T  Florence  there  lived,  about  ten  years  ago,  a  duke 
of  the  house  of  Medicis,  who  had  married  Madame 
Margaret,  natural  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Charles 
the  Fifth.  As  the  princess  was  still  very  young,  and 
the  duke  would  not  sleep  with  her  until  she  was  of  more  mature 
age,  he  treated  her  very  tenderly  ;  and  to  spare  her  he  amused 
himself  with  some  other  ladies  of  the  city,  whom  he  used  to 
visit  by  night  whilst  his  wife  slept.  Among  others,  he  took  a 
fancy  to  a  lady  as  beautiful  as  she  was  good  and  virtuous,  the 
sister  of  a  gentleman  whom  the  duke  loved  as  himself,  and  to 
whom  he  conceded  such  authority  that  he  was  obeyed  like  the 
du^e  himself.  The  latter  had  no  secrets  which  he  did  not  com¬ 
municate  to  him,  so  that,  in  a  manner,  he  might  be  called  his 
second  self.  The  duke,  knowing  that  the  gentleman’s  sister  was 
a  lady  of  the  highest  virtue,  durst  not  at  first  speak  to  her  of  his 
passion  ;  but  after  having  tried  every  other  expedient,  he  at  last 
addressed  his  favourite  on  the  subject. 

“  If  there  was  anything  in  the  world,  my  friend,”  he  said, 
“  which  I  would  not  do  for  you,  I  should  be  afraid  to  tell  you 
what  is  in  my  thoughts,  and  still  more  to  ask  your  aid.  But  I 
have  so  much  friendship  for  you,  that  if  I  had  a  wife,  a  mother, 
or  a  daughter  who  could  save  your  life,  you  may  be  assured  you 
should  not  die.  I  am  persuaded  that  yuu  love  me  as  much  as  I 
love  you.  If  I,  who  am  your  master,  have  such  an  affection  for 
you,  that  which  you  should  have  for  me  should  be  no  less.  I 
have  a  secret,  then,  to  tell  you.  Through  trying  to  conceal  it,  I 
have  fallen  into  the  state  in  which  you  now  see  me,  from  which 
I  have  no  hope  of  escaping  but  by  death,  or  by  the  service  you 
may  render  me,  if  you  will.” 

Touched  by  these  representations  on  the  part  of  his  master, 
and  seeing  his  face  bathed  in  tears,  the  gentleman  felt  so  much 
pity  that  he  said,  “  I  am  your  creature,  my  lord  ;  it  is  from  you 
I  hold  all  my  wealth  and  honours,  and  you  may  speak  to  me  as 
to  your  own  soul,  being  sure  that  whatever  I  can  do  is  at  your 
command.” 

The  duke  then  declared  the  passion  with  which  he  was  pos¬ 
sessed  for  his  favourite’s  sister,  and  told  him  it  was  impossible 
he  should  live  long  unless  the  brother  enabled  him  to  enjoy  her; 
for  he  was  quite  sure  that  prayers  or  presents  would  be  of  nc 


Novel  12.]  ^  Second  Day .  81 

avail  with  her.  “  If,  then,”  said  the  duke,  in  conclusion,  'you  ^ 
love  my  life  as  much  as  I  love  yours,  find  means  to  secure  me  a 
bliss  I  can  never  obtain  but  through  your  aid.”  The  gentleman, 
who  loved  his  sister  and  the  honour  of  his  house  more  than  his 
master’s  pleasure,  remonstrated  with  him,  and  implored  him  not 
to  reduce  him  to  the  horrible  necessity  of  soliciting  the  dishonour 
of  his  family,  protesting  there  was  nothing  he  would  not  do  for 
his  master,  but  that  his  honour  would  not  suffer  him  to  perform 
such  a  service  as  that.  The  duke,  inflamed  with  intolerable 
anger,  bit  his  nails,  and  replied,  furiously,  “Since  I  find  no 
friendship  in  you,  I  know  what  I  have  to  do.”  The  gentleman, 
who  knew  his  master’s  cruelty,  was  alarmed,  and  said,  “  Since 
you  absolutely  insist  on  it,  my  lord,  I  will  speak  to  her.”  “  If 
you  set  store  by  my  life,  I  will  set  store  by  yours,”  were  the 
duke’s  last  words  as  he  went  away. 

The  gentleman  knew  well  what  this  meant,  and  remained  a 
day  or  two  without  seeing  the  duke,  pondering  over  the  means 
of  extricating  himself  from  so  bad  a  dilemma.  On  the  one  hand, 
he  considered  the  obligations  he  was  under  to  his  master,  the 
wealth  and  honours  he  had  received  from  him  ;  on  the  other 
hand,  he  thought  of  the  honour  of  his  house,  and  the  virtue  and 
chastity  of  his  sister.  He  knew  very  well  that  she  never  would 
consent  to  such  infamy,  unless  she  were  overcome  by  fraud  or 
violence,  which  he  could  not  think  of  employing,  considering  the 
shame  it  would  bring  upon  him  and  her.  In  fine,  he  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  would  rather  die  than  behave  so  vilely  to  his 
sister,  who  was  one  of  the  best  women  in  Italy  ;  and  he  resolved 
to  deliver  his  country  from  a  tyrant  who  was  bent  on  disgracing 
his  house  ;  for  he  saw  clearly  that  the  only  means  of  securing  the 
lives  of  himself  and  his  kindred  was  to  get  rid  of  the  duke.  Re¬ 
solved,  then,  without  speaking  to  his  sister,  to  save  his  life  and 
prevent  his  shame  by  one  and  the  same  deed,  he  went  after  two 
da\s  to  the  duke,  and  told  him  that  he  had  laboured  so  hard 
with  his  sister  that  at  last,  with  infinite  difficulty,  he  had  brought 
her  to  consent  to  the  duke’s  wishes,  but  on  condition  that  the 
affair  should  be  kept  secret,  and  that  no  one  should  know  of  it 
but  they  three.  As  people  readily  believe  what  they  desire,  the 
duke  put  implicit  faith  in  the  brother’s  words.  He  embraced 
him,  promised  him  everything  he  could  ask,  urged  him  to  hasten 
the  fulfilment  of  his  good  tidings,  and  appointed  a  time  with 
.him  for  that  purpose. 

When  the  exulting  duke  saw  the  approach  of  the  night  he  so 
longed  for,  in  which  he  expected  to  conquer  her  whom  he  haa 

G 


82  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

0 

thought  invincible,  he  retired  early  with  his  favourite,  and  did 
not  forget  to  dress  and  perfume  himself  with  his  best  care.  When 
all  was  still,  the  gentleman  conducted  him  to  his  sister’s 
abode,  and  showed  him  into  a  magnificent  chamber,  where  he 
undressed  him,  put  him  to  bed,  and  left  him,  saying,  “  I  am  going, 
my  lord,  to  bring  you  one  who  will  not  enter  this  room  without 
blushing  ;  but  I  hope  that  before  day  dawns  she  will  be  assured 
of  you.” 

He  then  went  away  to  his  own  room,  where  he  found  one  trusty 
servant  awaiting  him  by  his  orders.  “  Is  thy  heart  bold  enough,” 
he  said  to  him,  “to  follow  me  to  a  place  where  I  have  to  revenge 
myself  on  the  greatest  of  my  enemies  ?”  “  Yes,  my  lord,”  re¬ 

plied  the  man,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  matter  in  hand,  “though 
it  were  upon  the  duke  himself.”  Thereupon,  without  giving  the 
man  time  for  reflection,  the  gentleman  hurried  him  away  so 
abruptly  that  he  had  not  time  to  take  any  other  weapon  than  a 
poniard  wiih  which  he  was  already  armed. 

The  duke,  hearing  his  favourite’s  footsteps  at  the  door,  believed 
that  he  was  bringing  him  the  object  of  his  passion,  and  threw 
open  the  curtains  to  behold  and  welcome  her  ;  but  instead  of  her 
he  saw  her  brother  advance  upon  him  with  a  drawn  sword.  Un¬ 
armed,  but  undaunted,  the  duke  started  up,  seized  the  gentleman 
round  the  middle,  saying,  “  Is  this  the  way  you  keep  your  word  ?” 
and  lor  want  of  other  weapons  used  his  nails  and  his  teeth,  bit 
his  antagonist  in  the  thumb,  and  defended  himself  so  well  that 
they  fell  together  beside  the  bed.  The  gentleman,  not  feeling 
confident  in  his  own  strength,  called  his  man,  who,  seeing  his 
master  and  the  duke  grappling  each  other  so  desperately  that  he 
could  not  well  distinguish  which  was  which  in  that  dark  spot, 
dragged  them  both  out  by  the  heels  into  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  then  set  about  cutting  the  duke’s  throat  with  his  poniard. 
The  duke  defended  himself  to  the  last,  until  he  was  exhausted 
by  loss  of  blood.  Then  the  gentleman  and  his  man  laid  him  on 
the  bed,  finished  him  with  their  poniards,  drew  the  curtains 
upon  the  body,  and  left  the  room,  locking  the  door  behind 
them. 

Having  slain  his  enemy  and  liberated  the  republic,  the  gentle¬ 
man  thought  that  his  exploit  would  not  be  complete  unless  he 
did  the  same  by  five  or  six  near  relations  of  the  duke.  To  this 
end  he  ordered  his  man  to  go  and  fetch  them  one  by  one  ;  but 
the  servant,  who  had  neither  vigour  nor  boldness  enough,  re¬ 
plied,  “  It  strikes  me,  my  lord,  that  you  have  done  enough  for 
the  present,  and  that  you  had  much  better  think  of  saving  your 


Novel  12.]  Second  Day .  83 

own  life  than  of  taking  that  of  others.  If  every  one  of  them 
should  take  as  long  to  despatch  as  the  duke,  it  would  be  daylight 
before  we  had  finished,  even  should  they  be  unarmed.”  As  the 
guilty  are  easily  susceptible  of  the  contagion  of  fear,  tne  gentle¬ 
man  took  his  servant  s  advice,  and  went  with  him  alone  to  a 
bishop,  whose  place  it  was  to  have  the  gates  opened  and  to  give 
orders  to  the  postmasters.  The  gentleman  told  the  prelate  he 
had  just  received  intelligence  that  one  of  his  brothers  was 
at  the  point  of  death  ;  that  the  duke  had  given  him  Pave 
to  go  to  him,  and  therefore  he  begged  his  lordship  would 
give  him  an  order  to  the  postmasters  for  two  good  horses,  and  to 
the  gate-keepers  to  let  him  pass.  The  bishop,  to  whom 
his  request  seemed  almost  equivalent  to  a  command  from 
the  duke  his  master,  gave  him  a  note,  by  means  of  which  he 
at  once  obtained  what  he  required  ;  but  instead  of  goingtosee 
his  brother,  he  made  straight  for  Venice,  where  he  had  himsell 
cured  of  the  bites  inflicted  by  the  duke,  and  then  passed  over 
into  Turkey. 

Next  morning  the  duke’s  servants,  not  seeing  or  hearing  any¬ 
thing  of  him,  concluded  that  he  had  gone  to  see  some  lady  ;  but 
at  last  becoming  uneasy  at  his  long  absence,  they  began  to  look 
for  him  in  all  directions.  The  poor  duchess,  who  was  brgin- 
ning  to  love  him  greatly,  was  extremely  distressed  at  hearing 
that  he  could  not  be  found.  The  favourite  also  not  making  his 
appearance,  some  of  the  servants  went  for  him  to  his  house. 
They  saw  blood  at  his  chamber  door,  but  no  one  could  give  any 
account  of  him.  The  trace  of  blood  led  the  duke’s  servants  tc 
the  chamber  where  he  lay,  and  finding  the  door  locked,  they 
broke  it  open  at  once,  saw  the  floor  covered  with  blood,  drew 
the  curtains,  and  beheld  the  duke  stark  dead  on  the  bed. 
Picture  to  yourselves  the  affliction  of  these  servants,  as  they 
carried  the  body  to  the  palace.  The  bishop  arrived  there  at  the 
same  time,  and  told  them  how  the  gentleman  had  fled  in  the 
night  under  pretence  of  going  to  see  his  brother.  This  was 
enough  to  lead  everyone  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  he  who 
had  done  the  deed.  It  clearly  appeared  that  his  sister  had 
known  nothing  about  it.  Though  she  was  surprised  at  so  un¬ 
expected  an  event,  she  loved  her  brother  for  it,  since,  without 
regard  to  his  own  life,  he  had  delivered  her  from  a  tyrant  who 
was  bent  on  the  ruin  of  her  honour.  She  continued  always  to 
lead  the  same  virtuous  life ;  and  though  she  was  reduced  to 
Doverty  by  tne  confiscation  of  ail  the  family  property,  her  sister 
and  she  found  husbands  as  honourable  and  wealthy  as  any  in 


84  The  Heptcimcron  of  the  Queen  op  Navarre. 

Italy.  Both  of  them  have  always  lived  subsequently  in  tne  best 
repute.* 

Here  is  a  fact,  ladies,  which  should  make  you  beware  of  that 
little  god,  who  delights  in  tormenting  princes  and  private  per¬ 
sons,  the  strong  and  the  weak,  and  who  so  infatuates  them  that 
they  forget  God  and  their  conscience,  and  even  the  care  of  their 
own  lives.  Princes  and  those  who  are  in  authority  ought  to  fear 
to  outrage  their  inferiors.  There  is  no  man  so  insignificant  but 
he  can  do  mischief  when  it  is  God’s  will  to  inflict  yengeance 
on  the  sinner,  nor  any  so  great  that  he  can  do  hurt  to  one  whom 
God  chooses  to  protect. 

This  story  was  listened  to  by  the  whole  company,  but  with 
very  different  sentiments.  Some  maintained  that  the  gentleman 
had  done  well  in  securing  his  own  life  and  his  sister’s  honour, 
and  delivering  his  country  from  such  a  tyrant.  Others,  on  the 
contrary,  said  that  it  was  enormously  ungrateful  to  take  the  life 
of  a  man  who  had  loaded  him  with  wealth  and  honours.  The 
ladies  said  he  was  a  good  brother  and  a  virtuous  citizen  ;  the 
gentlemen,  on  the  contrary,  maintained  that  he  was  a  traitor  and 
a  bad  servant.  It  was  amusing  to  hear  the  opinions  and  argu¬ 
ments  delivered  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other  :  but  the  ladies,  as 
usual,  spoke  more  from  passion  than  from  judgment,  saying  that 
the  duke  deserved  death,  and  that  blessed  was  the  brother  who 
had  slain  him.  “  Ladies,”  said  Dagoucin,  who  saw  what  a  lively 
controversy  he  had  excited,  “  pray  do  not  put  yourselves  in  a 
passion  about  a  thing  that  is  past  and  gone  ;  only  take  care  that 
your  beauties  do  not  occasion  murders  more  cruel  than  that 
which  I  have  related.” 

“  ‘The  Fair  Lady  without  Compassion,’  ”f  said  Parlamente, 
“  has  taught  us  to  say  that  people  hardly  ever  die  of  so  agree¬ 
able  a  malady.” 

“Would  to  God,  madam,”  rejoined  Dagoucin,  “that  every 
lady  here  knew  how  false  is  this  notion.  They  would  not  then, 
I  imagine,  desire  the  reputation  of  being  pitiless,  or  like  to  re- 

*  The  historical  fact  related  in  this  novel  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated  in 
the  annals  of  Florence.  The  duke  was  Alessandro,  natural  son  of  Lorenzo 
de  Medicis,  and  the  murderer  was  his  cousin,  Lorenzo  de  Medici.  Historians 
state  that  the  latter  decoyed  the  duke  to  his  house  under  pretence  of  affording 
him  an  interview  with  a  Florentine  lady,  but  they  do  not  mention  that  she  was 
Lorenzo's  sister. 

f  l.a  Belle  Datne  szns  Merci  is  the  title  of  a  poem  by  Alain  Chartier,  in  the 
form  of  a  long  metaphysical  dialogue  between  a  lady  and  her  lover. 


Novel  1 2.  |  Second  Day.  Sj 

semble  that  incredulous  fair  one  who  let  a  good  servant  die  for 
want  of  responding  favourably  to  his  passion.” 

“So,  then,”  said  Parlamente,  “to  save  the  life  of  a  man  who 
says  he  loves  us,  you  would  have  us  violate  our  honour  and  our 
conscience  ?” 

“  I  do  not  say  that,”  replied  Dagoucin,  “  for  he  who  loves 
thoroughly  would  be  more  afraid  of  hurting  the  honour  of  his 
mistress  than  she  herself.  Hence  it  seems  to  me  that  a  gracious 
response,  such  as  is  called  for  by  a  seemly  and  genuine  love, 
would  only  give  more  lustre  to  the  honour  and  conscience  of  a 
lady.  I  say  a  seemly  love,  for  I  maintain  that  those  who  love 
otherwise  do  not  love  perfectly.” 

“That  is  always  the  upshot  of  your  orisons,”  said  Ennasuite. 
“You  begin  with  honour,  and  end  with  its  opposite.  If  all  the 
gentlemen  present  will  tell  us  the  truth  of  the  matter,  I  will 
believe  them  on  their  oaths.” 

Htrcan  swore  that  he  had  never  loved  anyone  but  his  wife, 
and  that  it  was  far  from  his  wish  to  make  her  offend  God. 
Simontault  spoke  to  the  same  effect,  and  added  that  he  had  often 
wished  that  all  women  were  ill-natured  except  his  own  wife. 
“  You  deserve  that  yours  should  be  so,”  retorted  Geburon  ;  “  but 
for  my  part,  I  can  safely  swear  that  I  loved  a  woman  so  much 
that  l  would  rather  have  died  than  have  made  her  do  anything 
capable  of  diminishing  the  esteem  in  which  I  held  her.  My  love 
was  so  founded  upon  her  virtues,  that  I  would  not  have  seen 
a  stain  upon  them  for  the  most  precious  favours  I  could  have 
obtained  from  her.” 

“  I  thought,  Geburon,”  said  Safifredent,  laughing,  “  that  the 
love  you  have  for  your  wife,  and  the  good  sense  with  which 
nature  has  endowed  you,  would  have  saved  you  from  playing 
the  lover  elsewhere  ;  but  I  see  I  was  mistaken,  for  you  use  the 
very  phrases  which  we  are  accustomed  to  employ  to  dupe  the 
most  subtle  of  dames,  and  under  favour  of  which  we  obtain 
a  hearing  from  the  most  discreet.  Where  is  the  lady,  indeed, 
who  will  not  lend  us  an  ear  when  we  begin  our  discourse  with 
honour  and  virtue  ?  But  if  we  were  all  to  lay  open  our  hearts 
before  them  just  as  they  are,  there  is  many  a  man  well  received 
by  the  ladies,  whom  then  they  would  not  condescend  so  much  as 
to  look  upon.  We  hide  our  devil  under  the  form  of  the  hand¬ 
somest  angel  we  can  find,  and  so  receive  many  a  favour  before 
we  are  found  out.  Perhaps,  even,  we  lead  the  ladies  so  far,  that 
thinking  to  go  straight  to  virtue,  they  have  neither  time  nor  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  retreat  when  they  find  themselves  face  to  face  with  vice.” 


86 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

**  I  thought  you  quite  a  different  sort  of  man,”  said  Geburon, 
and  imagined  virtue  was  more  agreeable  to  you  than  pleasure.” 

“  Why,”  said  Saffredent,  “  is  there  any  greater  virtue  than  to 
love  in  the  way  God  has  ordained  ?  To  me  it  seems  much 
better  to  love  a  woman  as  a  woman,  than  to  make  her  one’s  idol, 
as  many  do.  For  my  part,  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  better 
tc  use  than  to  abuse.” 

All  the  ladies  coincided  in  opinion  with  Geburon,  and  bade 
Saffredent  hold  his  tongue.  “  Very  well,”  said  he,  “  I  am  con¬ 
tent  to  say  no  more  on  the  subject,  for  I  have  fared  so  badly  with 
regard  to  it  that  I  don’t  want  to  have  any  more  to  do  with  it.” 

“You  may  thank  your  own  bad  thoughts  for  having  fared 
badly,”  said  Longarine  ;  “  for  where  is  the  woman  with  a  proper 
sense  of  decorum  who  would  have  you  for  a  lover  after  what  you 
have  just  said  ?  ” 

“  There  are  those,”  he  retorted,  “who  did  not  think  me  in¬ 
tolerable,  and  who  would  not  have  exchanged  their  own  sense  of 
decorum  for  yours.  But  let  us  say  no  more  about  it,  in  order 
that  my  anger  may  shock  no  one,  and  may  not  shock  myself. 
Let  us  think  to  whom  Dagoucin  will  give  his  voice.” 

“  I  give  it  to  Parlamente,”  he  replied  at  once,  “  persuaded  as 
I  am  that  she  must  know  better  than  anyone  what  is  honourable 
and  perfect  friendship.” 

“  Since  you  elect  me  to  tell  a  story,”  said  Parlamente,  “  I  will 
relate  to  you  one  which  occurred  to  a  lady  who  had  always  been 
one  of  my  good  friends,  and  who  has  never  concealed  anything 
from  me.” 

NOVEL  XIII. 

The  captain  of  a  galley,  under  pretence  of  devotion,  fell  in  love  with  a 
demoiselle.  What  happened  in  consequence. 

HERE  was  in  the  household  of  the  regent,  mother  of 
King  Francis,  a  very  devout  lady,  married  to  a  gentle¬ 
man  of  the  same  character.  Though  her  husband  was 
old,  and  she  young  and  fair,  nevertheless  she  served  him 
and  loved  him  as  though  he  had  been  the  handsomest  young  mar 
in  the  world.  To  leave  him  no  cause  of  uneasiness,  she  made  il 
her  care  to  live  with  him  like  a  woman  of  his  own  age,  shunning 
all  company,  all  magnificence  in  dress,  all  dances  and  diver¬ 
sions  such  as  women  are  usually  fond  of,  and  making  the  service 
of  God  her  sole  pleasure  and  recreation.  One  day  her  husband 
told  her  that  from  his  youth  upwards  he  had  longed  to  make  the 


Novel  13.]  Second  Day.  87 

journey  to  Jerusalem,  and  he  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  the 
matter.  She,  whose  only  thought  was  how  to  please  him,  replied: 
“  Since  God  has  deprived  us  of  children,  my  dear,  and  has  given 
us  wealth  enough,  I  should  be  strongly  inclined  to  spend  a  part 
of  it  in  performing  that  sacred  journey;  for,  whether  you  go  to 
Jerusalem  or  elsewhere,  I  am  resolved  to  accompany,  and  never 
forsake  you.”  The  good  man  was  so  pleased  with  this  reply  that 
he  fancied  himself  already  standing  on  Mount  Calvary. 

Just  at  this  time  there  arrived  at  court  a  gentleman  who  had 
served  long  against  the  Turks,  and  who  was  come  to  obtain  the 
king’s  approval  for  a  projected  enterprise  against  a  fortress  be¬ 
longing  to  the  Ottomans,  the  success  of  which  was  likely  to  be 
very  advantageous  to  Christendom.  The  old  devotee  talked  with 
him  about  his  expedition,  and  learning  from  him  that  he  was 
resolved  upon  it,  asked  him  if  he  would  be  disposed,  after  it  was 
accomplished,  to  make  another  journey  to  Jerusalem,  which  him¬ 
self  and  his  wife  had  a  great  desire  to  see.  The  captain,  highly 
approving  of  so  good  a  design,  promised  to  accompany  him,  and 
to  keep  the  thing  secret.  The  old  gentleman  was  impatient  to 
see  his  wife,  to  tell  her  what  he  had  done.  As  she  had  scarcely 
less  longing  than  her  husband  to  perform  the  journey,  she  talked 
of  it  often  to  the  captain,  who,  paying  more  attention  to  her  per¬ 
son  than  to  her  words,  become  so  much  in  love  with  her  that,  in 
talking  to  her  of  the  voyages  he  had  made  by  sea,  he  often  con¬ 
founded  the  port  of  Marseilles  with  the  Archipelago,  and  said 
horse  when  he  meant  to  say  ship,  so  much  was  he  beside  himself. 
He  found  her,  however,  of  so  singular  a  character  that  he  durst 
not  let  her  see  that  he  loved  her,  much  less  tell  her  so  in  words. 
The  tire  of  his  passion  became  so  violent  by  dint  of  his  conceal¬ 
ing  it  that  it  often  made  him  ill. 

The  demoiselle,  who  regarded  him  as  her  guide,  took  as  much 
care  of  him  as  of  the  cross,  and  sent  to  inquire  after  him  so  often 
that  the  interest  she  evinced  for  him  cured  the  patient  without 
the  aid  of  physic.  Several  persons,  who  knew  that  the  captain 
had  always  had  a  better  reputation  for  valour  than  for  devotion, 
were  surprised  at  the  great  intercourse  between  him  and  this  lady  ; 
and  seeing  that  he  had  changed  from  white  to  black,  that  he 
frequented  the  churches,  attended  sermons,  and  performed  all  the 
devoirs  of  a  devo  ee,  they  doubted  not  that  he  did  so  to  ingra¬ 
tiate  himself  with  the  lady,  and  could  not  even  help  hinting  as 
much  to  him.  The  captain,  fearing  lest  this  should  come  to  the 
ears  of  the  lady,  withdrew  from  society,  and  told  her  husband 
and  her,  that,  being  on  the  point  of  receiving  his  orders  and  quit- 


88  The  Hepta7ncron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

ting  the  court,  he  had  many  things  to  say  to  them,  but  hat,  foi 
the  greater  svcrecy,  he  would  only  confer  with  them  in  private, 
to  which  end  he  begged  they  would  send  for  him  when  they  had 
both  retired  for  the  night. 

This  proposal  being  quite  to  the  old  gentleman’s  liking,  he 
failed  not  to  go  to  bed  early  every  night  and  make  his  wife  un¬ 
dress.  -After  everybody  had  gone  to  rest,  he  used  to  send  for  the 
captain  to  talk  about  the  journey  to  Jerusalem,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  good  man  often  fell  asleep  devoutly.  On  these  occa¬ 
sions,  the  captain,  seeing  the  old  gentleman  sleeping  like  the 
blessed,  and  himself  seated  in  a  chair  at  the  bedside,  close  to 
her  whom  he  thought  the  most  charming  woman  in  the  world, 
felt  his  heart  so  hard  pressed,  between  his  fear  and  his  desire  to 
declare  himself,  that  he  often  lost  the  use  of  his  tongue.  But 
that  she  might  not  perceive  his  perplexity,  he  launched  out  upon 
the  holy  places  of  Jerusalem,  where  are  to  be  seen  the  me¬ 
morials  of  the  great  love  which  Jesus  Christ  had  for  us.  What 
he  said  of  that  love  was  only  uttered  to  conceal  his  own  ;  and 
while  he  expatiated  upon  it,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  lady, 
wept  and  sighed  so  a  propos,  that  her  heart  was  quite  penetrated 
with  piety.  Believing  from  this  outward  appearace  of  devotion 
that  he  was  quite  i  saint  she  begged  him  to  tell  her  how  he  had 
lived,  and  how  he  had  come  to  love  God  with  such  fervour?  He 
told  her  he  was  a  poor  gentleman,  who  to  acquire  wealth  and 
honours  had  forgotten  his  conscience,  and  married  a  lady  who 
was  too  nearly  related  to  him,  one  who  was  rich,  but  old  and 
ugly,  and  whom  he  did  not  love  at  all  ;  that  after  having  drawn 
all  his  wife’s  money  from  her,  he  had  gone  to  seek  his  fortune 
at  sea,  and  had  sped  so  well  that  he  had  become  the  captain  of  a 
galley  ;  but  that  since  he  had  had  the  honour  of  her  acquaint¬ 
ance,  her  holy  converse  and  her  good  example  had  so  changed 
him  that  he  was  reso! /ed,  if  by  God’s  grace  he  came  back  alive 
from  his  expedition,  to  take  her  and  her  husband  to  Jerusalem, 
there  to  do  penance  for  his  great  sins  which  he  had  forsaken, 
after  which  it  would  only  remain  for  him  to  make  reparation  to 
his  wife,  to  whom  he  hoped  soon  to  be  reconciled.  This  account 
which  he  gave  of  himself  was  very  pleasing  to  the  pious  lady, 
who  congratulated  herself  much  on  having  converted  a  sinner 
of  such  magnitude. 

These  nocturnal  confabulations  continued  every  night  until  the 
departure  of  the  captain,  who  never  ventured  to  declare  him¬ 
self.  Only  he  made  the  fair  devotee  a  present  of  a  crucifix  from 
Our  Lady  of  Pity,  beseeching  her,  whenever  she  looked  upon  it 


Novel  13,]  Second  Z)ay.  89 

to  think  of  him.  The  time  of  his  departu 'e  being  come,  and 
having  taken  leave  of  the  husband,  who  was  falling  asleep,  he 
had  last  of  all  to  take  leave  of  the  fair  one,  in  whose  eyes  he  saw 
tears,  drawn  forth  by  the  kind  feeling  she  entertained  for  him. 
His  impassioned  heart  so  thrilled  at  the  sight  that  he  almost 
fainted  as  he  bade  her  farewell,  and  burst  into  such  an  extraor¬ 
dinary  perspiration  that  he  wept,  so  to  speak,  not  only  with  his 
eyes,  but  with  every  part  of  his  body.  Thus  he  departed  without 
any  explanation,  and  the  lady,  who  never  before  had  seen  such 
tokens  of  regret,  was  quite  astonished  at  his  emotion.  She  had 
not  the  less  good  opinion  of  him  for  all  that,  and  her  prayers  ac¬ 
companied  him  on  his  way.  A  month  afterwards,  as  she  was  re¬ 
turning  to  her  own  house  one  day,  she  was  met  by  a  gentleman,  who 
delivered  a  letter  to  her  from  the  captain,  begging  her  to  read  it 
in  private,  and  assuring  her  that  he  had  seen  him  embark,  fully 
resolved  to  perform  an  expedition  which  should  be  pleasing  to  the 
king  and  advantageous  to  the  faith.  At  the  same  time  the  gentle¬ 
man  mentioned  that  he  was  going  back  to  Marseilles  to  look  after 
the  captain’s  affairs.  The  lady  went  to  the  window  and  opened 
the  letter,  which  consisted  of  two  sheets  of  paper  written  all  over. 
It  was  an  elaborate  declaration  of  the  feelings  which  the  writer 
had  so  carefully  concealed,  and  in  it  was  enclosed  a  large  hand¬ 
some  diamond,  mounted  in  a  black  enamelled  ring,  which  the  lady 
was  supplicated  to  put  on  her  fair  finger. 

Having  read  the  enormously  long  ietter  from  beginningto  end, 
the  lady  was  the  more  astonished  as  she  had  never  suspected  the 
captain’s  love  for  her.  The  diamond  caused  her  much  perplexity, 
for  she  knew  not  what  to  do  with  it.  After  thinking  over  the 
matter  all  that  day,  and  dreaming  of  it  at  night,  she  rejoiced  that 
she  could  abstain  from  replying  for  want  of  a  messenger,  saying 
to  herself  that  as  the  bearer  of  the  letter  had  taken  such  pains  on 
the  writer’s  behalf,  she  ought  to  spare  him  the  mortification  of 
such  a  reply  as  she  had  resolved  to  give  him,  but  which  she  now 
thought  fit  to  reserve  till  the  captain’s  return.  The  diamond  was 
still  a  cause  of  much  embarrassment  to  her,  as  it  was  not  her 
custom  to  adorn  herself  at  anyone’s  expense  but  her  husband’s. 
At  last  her  good  sense  suggested  to  her  that  she  could  not 
employ  it  better  than  for  the  relief  of  the  captain’s  conscience, 
and  she  instantly  despatched  it,  by  the  hands  of  one  of  her 
servants,  to  the  captain’s  forlorn  wife,  to  whom  she  wrote  as 
follows,  in  the  assumed  character  of  a  nun  of  Tarrascon  : — 

44  Madam, — Your  husband  passed  this  way  a  little  before  he 


The  Heptamer on  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

embarked.  He  confessed,  and  received  his  Creator  like  a  good 
Christian,  and  declared  to  me  a  fact  which  lay  heavy  on  his  con¬ 
science,  namely,  his  regret  for  not  having  loved  you  as  he  ought. 
He  begged  me  at  his  departure  to  send  you  this  letter  with  this 
diamond,  which  he  begs  you  to  keep  for  his  sake,  assuring  you 
that  if  God  brings  him  back  safe  and  sound,  he  will  make 
amends  for  the  past  by  all  the  love  that  you  can  desire.  This 
diamond  will  be  for  you  a  pledge  of  his  word.  I  ask  of  you  on 
his  behalf  the  aid  of  your  good  prayers  ;  for  all  my  life  he  shall 
have  part  in  mine.” 

When  the  captain’s  wife  received  this  letter  and  the  diamond, 
it  may  well  be  imagined  how  she  wept  with  joy  and  sorrow  :  joy 
at  being  loved  by  her  husband,  and  sorrow  at  being  deprived  of 
his  presence.  She  kissed  the  ring  a  thousand  times,  washing  it 
with  her  tears,  and  praised  God  for  having  restored  her  husband’s 
affection  to  her  at  the  close  of  her  days,  and  when  she  least  ex¬ 
pected  it.  The  nun  who,  under  God,  had  wrought  such  a  blessing 
for  her  was  not  forgotten  in  her  grateful  acknowledgments.  She 
replied  to  her  by  the  same  man,  who  nr.ade  his  mistress  laugh 
heartily  when  he  told  her  how  the  captain’s  wife  had  received 
her  communication.  The  fair  devotee  congratulated  herself  on 
having  got  rid  of  the  diamond  in  so  pious  a  manner,  and  was  as 
much  rejoiced  at  having  re-established  the  good  understanding 
between  the  husband  and  wife  as  though  she  had  gained  a 
kingdom. 

Some  time  afterwards  news  arrived  of  the  defeat  and  death  of 
the  poor  captain.  He  had  been  abandoned  by  those  who  ought 
to  have  supported  him,  and  the  Rhodians,  who  had  most  interest 
in  concealing  his  design,  were  the  first  to  make  it  known. 
Nearly  eighty  men  who  had  made  a  descent  on  the  land  were 
cut  off  almost  to  a  man.  Among  them  there  was  a  gentleman 
named  Jean,  and  a  converted  Turk,  for  whom  the  fair  devotee 
had  been  godmother,  and  whom  she  had  given  to  the  captain  to 
accompany  him  on  his  expedition.  Jean  fell  along  with  the 
captain;  the  Turk,  wounded  in  fifteen  places  with  arrows,  escaped 
by  swimming  to  the  French  vessels,  and  it  was  from  his  report 
that  it  was  known  exactly  how  the  thing  had  happened.  A 
certain  gentleman  whom  the  captain  believed  to  be  his  friend, 
and  whose  interests  he  had  advanced  with  the  king  and  the 
|reatest  personages  in  France,  after  the  captain  had  landed  stood 
off  shore  with  his  vessels.  The  captain,  seeing  that  his  scheme 
was  discovered,  and  that  he  was  opposed  by  four  thousand 


Novel  13.]  Second  Day.  91 

Turks,  set  about  retreating.  But  the  gentleman  in  whom  he  put 
such  confidence,  considering  that  after  his  death  he  himself  would 
have  the  command  and  the  profit  of  that  great  fleet,  represented 
to  the  officers  that  it  was  not  right  to  risk  the  king’s  vessels  and 
the  lives  of  so  many  brave  men  on  board  them  in  order  to  save 
eighty  or  a  hundred  persons.  The  officers,  as  spiritless  as  himself, 
coincided  with  him  in  opinion.  T1  e  captain,  seeing  that  the 
more  he  called  to  them  the  more  they  drew  off  from  the  shore, 
faced  round  against  his  foes,  and  though  he  was  up  to  his  knees 
in  sand,  he  defended  himself  so  valiantly  that  it  almost  seemed 
as  if  his  single  arm  would  defeat  the  assailants.  But  at  last  he 
received  so  many  wounds  from  the  arrows  of  those  who  durst 
not  approach  him  within  less  than  bowshot  distance,  that  he 
began  to  grow  weak  from  loss  of  blood.  The  Turks,  seeing  that 
the  Christians  were  nearly  spent,  fell  upon  them  with  the  scimi¬ 
tars  ;  but  notwithstanding  the  overwhelming  numbers  of  the  foe, 
the  Christians  defended  themselves  as  long  as  they  had  breath. 
The  captain  called  to  him  the  gentleman  named  Jean,  and  the 
Turk  whom  the  devotee  had  given  him,  and  planting  his  sword 
in  the  ground,  kissed  and  embraced  the  cross  on  his  knees,  say¬ 
ing,  “  Lord,  receive  the  soul  of  him  who  has  not  spared  his  life 
for  the  exaltation  of  thy  name.”  Jean,  seeing  him  droop  as  he 
uttered  these  words,  took  him  and  his  sword  in  his  arms,  wishing 
to  succour  him  ;  but  a  Turk  cut  both  his  thighs  to  the  bone  from 
behind.  “Come,  captain,”  he  cried,  as  he  received  the  stroke, 
“let  us  go  to  Paradise  to  see  him  for  whose  sake  we  die.”  As 
he  had  been  united  with  the  captain  in  life,  so  was  he  also  in 
death.  The  Turk,  seeing  that  he  could  be  of  no  use  to  either 
of  them,  and  that  he  was  pierced  with  arrows,  made  his  way  to 
the  vessels  by  swimming  :  and  though  he  was  the  only  one  wiio 
had  escaped  out  of  eighty,  the  perfidious  commander  would  not 
receive  him.  But  being  a  good  swimmer,  he  went  from  vessel 
to  vessel,  till  at  last  he  was  taken  on  board  a  small  one,  where  in 
the  course  of  a  little  time  he  was  cured  of  his  wounds. 

It  was  through  this  foreigner  that  the  truth  became  known 
respecting  this  event,  glorious  to  the  captain,  and  shameful  to  his 
companion  in  arms.  The  king,  and  all  good  people  who  heard 
of  it,  deemed  the  act  of  the  latter  so  black  towards  God  and  man 
that  there  was  nc  punishment  too  bad  for  him.  But  on  his 
return  he  told  so  many  lies,  and  made  so  many  presents,  that  not 
only  did  his  crime  remain  unpunished,  but  he  succeeded  to  the 
post  of  him  whose  lacquey  he  was  not  worthy  to  be.  When  the 
sad  news  reached  the  court,  the  regent- mother,  who  highly 


92  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre* 

esteemed  the  captain,  greatly  mourned  his  loss.  So  did  the  king 
and  all  who  had  known  him.  When  she,  whom  he  had  so  pas¬ 
sionately  loved,  heard  of  his  strange,  piteous,  and  Christian  end, 
the  obduracy  she  had  felt  towards  him  melted  into  tears,  and  her 
lamentations  were  shared  by  her  husband,  whose  pilgrim  hopes 
were  frustrated  by  the  catastrophe. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  that  a  demoiseile  belonging  to 
this  lady,  who  loved  the  gentleman  Jean  better  than  herself,  told 
her  mistress,  the  very  day  the  captain  and  he  were  killed,  that  she 
had  seen  in  a  dream  him  whom  she  loved  so  much,  that  he 
had  come  to  her  in  white  raiment  to  bid  her  farewell,  and  told 
her  that  he  was  going  to  Paradise  with  his  captain.  But  when 
she  learned  that  her  dream  was  true,  she  made  such  piteous  moans 
that  her  mistress  had  enough  to  do  to  console  her.  Some  time 
after,  the  court  went  into  Normandy,  of  which  province  the  cap¬ 
tain  was  a  native,  and  his  wife  failed  not  to  come  and  pay  her 
respects  to  the  regent-mother,  intending  to  be  introduced  by  the 
lady  with  whom  her  husband  had  been  so  much  in  love.  Whilst 
waiting  for  the  hour  when  she  could  have  audience,  the  two  ladies 
entered  a  church,  where  the  widow  began  to  laud  her  husband 
and  make  lamentations  over  his  death.  “  I  am,  madam,  the  most 
unhappy  of  women,”  she  said.  “God  has  taken  my  husband 
from  me  at  the  time  when  he  loved  me  more  than  ever  he  had 
done.”  So  saying,  she  showed  the  diamond  she  wore  on 
her  finger  as  a  pledge  of  his  perfect  affection.  This  was  not 
said  without  a  world  of  tears  ;  and  the  other  lady,  who  saw  that 
her  good-natured  fraud  had  produced  so  excellent  an  effect,  was 
so  strongly  tempted  to  laugh,  in  spite  of  her  grief,  that,  not  being 
able  to  present  the  widow  to  the  regent,  she  handed  her  over  to 
another,  and  retired  into  a  chapel,  where  she  had  her  laugh  out.* 

Methinks,  ladies,  that  those  of  our  sex  to  whom  presents  are 
made  ought  to  be  glad  to  employ  them  as  usefully  as  did  this 
good  lady  ;  for  they  would  find  there  is  pleasure  and  joy  in 
doing  good.  We  must  by  no  means  accuse  her  of  fraud,  but 

#  The  incidents  related  in  this  novel  appear  to  be  real,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  discover  the  names  of  the  actors.  M.  Paul  Lacroix  supposes  the  hero  of  the 
novel  to  be  a  Baron  de  Malleville,  Knight  of  Malta,  who  was  killed  at  Beyrout 
in  an  expedition  against  the  Turks,  and  whose  death  has  been  celebrated  by 
Clement ‘Marot.  But  the  Bibliophiles  Franfais  remark  that  the  conjecture  is 
untenable,  De  Malleville  being  styled  Parisien  by  the  poet,  whereas  the  captain 
was  a  Norman.  He  was  a  married  man,  too,  which  a  Knight  of  Malta  could 
not  be. 


Nozel  13.]  Second  Day .  93 

praise  her  good  sense,  which  enabled  her  to  extract  good  out 
of  a  bad  thing. 

“  You  mean  to  say,  then,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  that  a  fine 
diamond,  worth  two  hundred  crowns,  is  a  bad  thing?  I  assure 
you,  if  it  had  fallen  into  my  hands,  neither  his  wife  nor  his  rela¬ 
tions  would  ever  have  set  e)es  on  it.  Nothing  is  more  one’s  own 
than  a  thing  that  is  given.  The  captain  was  dead,  no  one  knew 
anything  of  the  matter,  and  she  might  well  have  abstained  from 
making  the  poor  old  woman  cry.” 

“  Good  faith,  you  are  right,”  said  Hircan,  “  for  there  is  many 
a  woman  who,  to  show  that  she  is  better  than  others,  does  acts 
contrary  to  her  nature.  In  fact,  do  we  not  all  know  that  nothing 
is  more  covetous  than  a  woman  ?  Yet  vanity  often  prevails  with 
them  over  avarice,  and  makes  them  do  things  in  which  their 
hearts  have  no  share.  In  my  opinion,  the  lady  who  set  so  little 
store  by  the  diamond  did  not  deserve  it.” 

“Gently,  gently,”  said  Oisille;  “  l  think  I  know  her,  and  I 
pray  you  not  to  condemn  her  unheard.” 

“  1  do  not  condemn  her,  madam,”  replied  Hircan  ;  “but  if  the 
gentleman  was  so  gallant  a  man  as  he  has  been  represented  to  have 
been,  it  was  a  glorious  thing  for  her  to  have  a  lover  of  such 
morit,  and  to  wear  his  ring.  But  perhaps  some  one  less  worthy 
to  be  loved  held  her  so  fast  by  the  finger  that  the  ring  could  not 
be  placed  on  it.” 

“Truly,”  said  Ennasuite,  “she  might  fairly  keep  it,  since 
no  one  knew  anything  about  it.” 

“What!”  exclaimed  Geburon,  “is  everything  allowable  for 
those  who  love,  provided  nobody  knows  of  it  ?” 

“I  have  never,”  said  Satfredent,  “seen  anything  punished  as 
a  crime  except  imprudence  ;  in  fict,  no  murderer,  robber, 
or  adulterer,  is  ever  punished  by  justice,  or  blamed  amongst 
men,  provided  they  are  as  cunning  as  they  are  wicked.  But 
wickedness  often  blinds  them  so  that  they  become  witless. 
Thus  it  may  be  truly  said  that  it  is  only  fools  who  are  punished, 
and  not  the  vicious.” 

“You  may  say  what  you  will,”  said  Oisille,  “but  it  is  for 
God  to  judge  the  heart  of  the  lady.  For  my  part,  f  see  nothing 
in  her  conduct  but  what  is  comely  and  virtuous  ;  and  to  put 
an  end  to  this  dispute,  I  beg  you,  Parlamente,  to  call  on  some 
one  to  follow  you.” 

“  I  have  great  pleasure  in  calling  on  Simontault,”  replied 
Parlamente,  “and  I  am  mistaken  if,  after  these  two  sad  novels, 
he  will  not  give  us  one  which  will  not  make  us  weep.” 


94 


The  Hep  tamer  on.  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

“That  is  almost  as  good  as  saying  that  I  am  a  buffoon,”  said 
Simontault.  “  By  way  of  revenge,  I  will  let  you  see  that  there  are 
women  who  make  a  show  of  being  chaste  with  regard  to  certain 
people,  or  for  a  certain  time  ;  but  the  end  unmasks  them,  as  you 
will  see  by  this  true  story.” 


NOVEL  XIV. 

Subtlety  of  a  lover  who,  counterfeiting  the  real  favourite,  found  means  to 
recompense  himself  for  his  past  troubles. 

T  the  time  when  the  grand-master  of  Chaumont  was 
governor  of  the  duchy  of  Milan,  there  was  a  gentleman 
named  Bonnivet,  whose  merits  afterwards  raised  him  to 
the  rank  of  aJmiral  of  France.  As  his  rare  endow¬ 
ments  made  him  liked  by  everybody,  he  was  often  a  welcome 
guest  at  banquets  and  entertainments  where  ladies  were  present, 
and  he  was  better  received  by  them  than  ever  was  Frenchman 
before  or  since,  both  because  he  was  a  handsome,  agreeable  man, 
and  spoke  well,  and  because  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  one 
of  the  ablest  and  most  resolute  soldiers  of  his  time.  One  day 
during  the  carnival,  when  he  was  among  the  maskers,  he  danced 
with  a  lady,  one  of  the  handsomest  and  finest  women  in  Milar. 
At  every  pause  in  the  music,  he  failed  not  to  entertain  her  with 
the  language  of  love,  in  which  no  one  was  such  an  adept  as  he  ; 
but  the  fair  one,  not  thinking  herself  bound  to  respond  to  his 
most  humble  supplications,  cut  him  short,  told  him  flatly  that 
she  neither  loved  nor  ever  would  love  anyone  but  her  husband, 
and  that  he  had  better  address  his  tender  speeches  elsewhere. 
Nothing  daunted  by  this  reply,  which  he  would  by  no  means  take 
for  a  refusal,  Bonnivet  stuck  to  the  lady,  and  continued  to  press 
his  suit  with  great  vivacity  until  Mid-Lent.  In  spite  of  all  bis 
endeavours,  he  found  her  steadfast  in  the  resolution  she  had 
expressed,  yet  could  not  persuade  himself  that  all  this  was  real 
earnest,  seeing  the  hard  favour  of  the  husband  and  the  beauty  of 
the  wife. 

Convinced,  then,  that  she  practised  dissimulation,  he  resolved 
to  have  recourse  to  the  same  art,  and  thenceforth  desisted  from 
his  solicitations.  He  narrowly  inquired  into  her  conduct,  and 
found  that  she  loved  an  Italian  gentleman  of  good  parts  and  ac¬ 
complishments.  Bonnivet  gradually  insinuated  himself  into  the 
Italian’s  acquaintance,  and  did  so  with  such  adroitness  that  the 
latter  never  suspected  his  motive,  but  conceived  such  an  esteem 


Novel  14.]  Second  Day.  95 

for  him  that  next  to  h's  fair  one  he  was  the  person  he  loved  best 
in  the  world.  In  order  to  extract  the  Italian  gentleman’s  secret 
from  his  breast,  Bonnivet  pretended  to  unlock  his  own,  and  told 
him  that  he  loved  a  lady,  naming  one  whom  he  scarcely  ever 
thought  of,  at  the  same  time  begging  him  to  keep  the  secret,  that 
they  might  both  have  but  one  heart  and  one  thought.  The 
Italiaa,  in  return  for  the  confidence  which  Bonnivet  reposed  in 
him,  informed  him,  without  reserve,  of  his  passion  for  the  lady 
before  mentioned,  on  whom  Bonnivet  wanted  to  be  revenged. 
The  two  friends  met  every  day,  and  mutually  recounted  the  good 
fortunes  of  the  last  four-and-twenty  hours,  with  this  difference, 
however,  that  one  lied  and  the  other  told  the  truth.  The  Italian 
confessed  that  he  had  loved  the  lady  in  question  for  three  years, 
without  ever  having  obtained  from  her  more  than  fair  words  and 
assurances  that  he  was  loved.  Bonnivet  gave  him  his  very  best 
advice  ;  the  Italian  acted  upon  it,  and  prospered  by  it  so  well 
that  in  a  few  days  the  lady  consented  to  fulfil  all  his  desires. 
Nothing  remained  now  but  to  contrive  means  for  their  meeting  ; 
but  as  Bonnivet  was  fertile  in  expedients,  this  was  soon  done. 

“  l  am  more  obliged  to  you  than  to  any  man  living,”  said  the 
Italian  to  him  one  evening  before  supper,  “for,  thanks  to  your 
excellent  advice,  I  expect  this  night  to  enjoy  what  I  have  been 
longing  for  so  many  years.” 

“  Pray  let  me  know  the  nature  of  your  enterprise,”  said  Bon¬ 
nivet,  **  so  that  if  there  is  any  risk  in  it,  or  it  requires  any  artifice, 
I  may  aid  and  serve  as  your  friend.” 

He  then  learned  that  the  lady  had  an  opportunity  for  leaving 
the  great  door  of  the  house  open,  under  the  pretext  of  enabling 
one  of  her  brothers,  who  was  ill,  to  send  out  at  any  hour  of  the 
night  for  what  he  might  require.  The  Italian  was  to  enter  the 
court -yard  through  that  door,  but  was  not  to  ascend  the  main 
staircase.  He  was  to  turn  to  the  rightto  a  small  staircase,  go 
up  it  to  the  first  gallery,  on  which  the  chambers  of  her  father-in- 
law  and  her  brother-in-law  opened.  He  was  to  take  the  ihird 
door  from  the  stairs,  push  it  gently,  and  if  he  found  it  locked, 
he  was  to  go  away  at  once,  for  he  might  conclude  for  certain 
that  her  husband  had  returned,  though  he  was  not  expected 
back  for  two  days  ;  but  if  he  found  the  door  open,  he  was  to 
come  in  softly,  and  lock  the  door  behind  him,  being  assured 
that  there  was  no  one  in  the  room  but  herself.  Above  all,  he 
was  to  wear  felt  shoes,  that  he  might  make  no  noise,  and  not 
leave  home  till  two  hours  after  midnight,  for  her  brothers-in-law, 
who  were  much  addicted  to  play,  never  went  to  bed  till  past  one 


96  The  Heptameron  of  the  Qiieen  of  Navarre . 

o’clock,  Bonnivet  congratulated  his  friend,  wished  him  good 
speed,  and  bade  him  not  hesitate  to  command  his  services  it  he 
could  be  of  any  use  to  him.  The  Italian  thanked  him,  said  that 
in  affairs  such  as  this  one  could  not  be  too  much  alone,  and 
went  off  to  make  his  preparaiions. 

Bonnivet,  on  his  side,  did  not  sleep  ;  and  seeing  that  the  time 
was  come  to  be  revenged  on  the  cruel  fair  one,  he  went  to  bed 
early,  had  his  beard  trimmed  after  the  fashion  of  the  Italian’s, 
and  his  hair  cut  so  that  she  might  not  recognize  the  difference 
if  she  touched  him.  The  felt  shoes  were  not  forgotten,  nor  any 
of  the  other  things  which  the  Italian  was  accustomed  to  wear 
As  he  was  held  in  high  consideration  by  the  lady’s  father-in-law, 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  go  early  to  the  house,  being  prepared,  in 
case  anyone  perceivtd  him,  to  go  straight  to  the  chamber  of  the 
old  gentleman,  with  whom  he  had  some  business. 

He  reached  the  house  at  midnight  ;  met  several  people  in  it 
passing  to  and  fro,  but  no  one  noticed  him,  and  he  made  his  way 
into  the  gallery.  He  touched  the  first  two  doors,  and  found 
them  shut  ;  the  third  being  open,  he  entered  it,  and  locked  it 
behind  him.  The  chamber  was  all  hung  with  white,  and  there 
was  a  bed  with  a  drapery  of  the  same  colour,  of  such  fine  stuff, 
and  so  excellently  wrought  with  the  needle,  that  nothing  could 
be  handsomer.  The  lady  was  alone  in  bed,  dressed  in  the  most 
exquisite  night-gear,  as  he  could  perceive  (himself  unseen) 
through  a  corner  of  the  curtain,  for  there  was  a  large  wax  candle 
burning  in  the  room.  For  fear  of  being  recognized,  he  first  put 
out  the  light  ;  then  he  undressed  and  went  to  bed  to  her.  The 
fair  one,  believing  him  to  be  the  man  she  had  loved  so  long, 
received  him  with  all  possible  caresses  ;  but  he,  well  knowing 
that  he  owed  all  this  to  her  mistake,  took  good  heed  not  to  say 
one  word  to  her,  his  only  care  being  to  revenge  himself  at  the 
cost  of  her  honour,  and  without  being  under  any  obligation 
to  her;  but  she  liked  that  sweet  revenge  so  well,  that  she 
thought  she  had  recompensed  him  for  all  his  sufferings. 
This  lasied  till  the  clock  struck  one,  when  it  was  time 
to  leave  her.  Then  he  asked  her,  in  a  very  low  whisper, 
if  she  was  as  well  satisfied  with  him  as  he  was  with  her. 
She,  thinking  still  that  he  was  her  lover,  replied  that  she  was  not 
only  satisfied,  but  even  surprised  at  the  excess  of  his  love,  which 
had  kept  him  an  hour  without  speaking.  Upon  this  he  could 
restrain  himself  no  longer.  “  Now,  madam,”  he  said,  laughing 
outright,  “  will  you  refuse  me  another  time,  as  you  have  hitherto 
done  ?** 


Novel  14.]  Second  Day.  97 

The  lady,  recognizing  him  too  late  by  his  voice  and  his  laugh¬ 
ter,  was  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  vexation,  and  called  him 
a  thousand  times  impostor,  cheat,  traitor,  villain.  She  would 
have  sprung  out  of  bed  to  look  for  a  knife  with  which  to  kill 
herself  for  having  been  so  unhappy  as  to  lose  her  honour  for  a 
man  whom  she  did  not  love,  and  who,  to  be  revenged  upon  her, 
might  make  known  this  affair  to  the  whole  world.  But  he  held 
her  fast,  and  vowed  so  hard  that  he  would  love  her  better  than 
the  other,  and  would  faithfully  keep  her  secret,  that  at  last  she 
believed  him,  and  was  pacified,  lie  then  told  her  how  he  had 
contrived  to  find  himself  where  he  then  was,  and  related  to  her 
all  the  pains  he  had  taken  to  win  her;  whereupon  she  praised  his 
ingenuity,  and  vowed  that  she  would  love  him  better  than  the  other, 
who  had  not  been  able  to  keep  her  sec»et.  She  was  now  convinced, 
she  said,  how  false  were  the  prejudices  that  prevailed  against  the 
Ftench,  who  were  better  men,  more  persevering,  and  more  dis¬ 
creet  than  the  Italians  ;  and  from  that  moment  she  would  cast  off 
the  erroneous  opinions  of  her  countrypeople,  and  attach  herself 
heartily  to  him.  Only  she  entreated  him  that  for  some  time 
he  would  forbear  from  showing  himself  at  any  entertainment 
or  in  any  pNce  where  she  might  be,  unless  he  were  masked; 
for  she  knew  well  she  should  be  so  much  ashamed,  that  her 
countenance  would  tell  tales  of  her  to  everybody.  Having 
promised  this,  he  begged  her  in  his  turn  to  receive  his  friend 
well  when  he  should  come  about  two  o’clock,  and  afterwards 
get  rid  of  him  by  degrees.  She  made  great  difficulties  about 
this,  and  only  yielded  at  last  under  the  strong  coercion  of 
her  love  for  Bonnivet,  who  on  taking  leave  of  her  behaved 
so  much  to  her  satisfaction  that  she  would  gladly  have  had  him 
stay  a  little  longer. 

Having  risen  and  put  on  his  clothes,  he  went  out  of  the  room, 
and  left  the  door  ajar,  as  he  had  found  it.  As  it  was  near  two 
o'clock,  he  withdrew  into  a  corner  near  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
lest  he  should  meet  the  Italian,  and  soon  afterwards  saw  him 
pass  along  the  gallery  and  enter  the  fair  one’s  chamber.  Bon¬ 
nivet  then  went  home  to  rest  after  the  fatigues  of  the  night,  and 
remained  in  bed  till  nine  next  morning.  The  Italian  failed  not 
to  come  to  him  when  he  was  getting  up,  and  gave  him  an  account 
of  his  adventure,  which  had  not  turned  out  quite  so  agreeably  as 
he  had  expected  ;  for,  said  he,  “  I  found  the  lady  out  of  bed  in 
her  dressing-gown,  and  in  a  high  fever,  her  pulse  beating  vio¬ 
lently,  her  face  all  on  fire,  and  such  a  great  perspiration  breaking 
out  upon  her,  that  she  begged  me  to  go  away  for  fear  she  should 

H 


9S  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre ? 

be  obliged  to  call  her  women  to  her.  She  was  so  ill,  in  short, 
that  she  had  more  need  to  think  of  death  than  of  love,  and  to  be 
put  in  mind  of  Heaven  rather  than  of  Cupid.  She  was  very  sorry, 
she  told  me,  that  1  had  run  such  a  hazard  for  her  sake,  since  she 
could  not  make  me  any  requital  in  this  world,  being  about,  as 
she  hoped,  to  find  herself  soon  in  a  better  one.  I  was  so 
shocked  at  a  mischance  I  so  little  anticipated,  that  my  fire  and 
my  joy  were  changed  to  ice  and  sadness,  and  I  instantly  with¬ 
drew.  At  daylight  this  morning  I  sent  to  inquire  for  her,  and 
have  received  word  that  she  is  extremely  ill/’ 

As  he  delivered  this  sad  report  he  wept  so  piteously  that  one 
would  have  thought  his  soul  would  have  been  washed  out  with 
his  tears.  Bonnivet,  who  was  as  much  disposed  to  laugh  as  the 
other  was  to  weep,  consoled  him  as  well  as  he  could,  and  bade 
him  recollect  that  things  of  long  duration  always  seem  to  have 
an  untoward  beginning,  and  that  love  had  caused  this  delay  only 
to  enhance  his  future  enjoyment.  Thereupon  the  two  friends 
parted.  The  lady  kept  her  bed  for  some  days,  and  was  no 
sooner  out  of  it  once  more  than  she  dismissed  her  first  lover, 
alleging  as  her  reason  the  fear  of  death  in  which  she  had  been, 
and  the  terror  of  her  conscience.  She  devoted  herself  wholly 
to  Bonnivet,  whose  love  lasted,  as  usual,  about  as  long  as  the 
bloom  and  beauty  of  the  flowers. 

It  strikes  me,  ladies,  that  Bonnivet’s  sly  manoeuvres  were  a 
fair  set-off  against  the  hypocrisy  of  the  Milanese  lady,  who,  after 
playing  the  prude  so  long,  at  last  let  her  lasciviousness  be  seen. 

“  You  may  say  what  you  please  of  women,”  said  Ennasuite  ; 
“  but  Bonnivet’s  conduct  was  anything  but  that  of  a  man  of 
honour.  If  a  woman  loves  a  man,  is  that  any  reason  why 
another  should  have  her  by  trickery?” 

“  Set  it  down  for  certain,”  said  Geburon,  “that  when  that  sort 
of  goods  is  for  sale,  they  are  always  carried  off  by  the  highest 
and  last  bidder.  Do  not  imagine  that  those  who  serve  ladies 
take  such  a  world  of  trouble  for  their  sakes.  No,  it  is  for  them¬ 
selves,  and  for  their  own  pleasure.” 

“Of  that  I  entertain  no  manner  of  doubt,”  said  Longarine  ; 
“  for,  to  be  frank  with  you,  all  the  lovers  I  have  had  have  in¬ 
variably  begun  by  talking  of  my  interests,  and  telling  me  that 
they  loved  my  life,  my  welfare,  and  my  honour,  and  the  upshot 
of  it  all  has  no  less  invariably  been  their  own  interest,  their  own 
pleasure,  and  their  own  vanity.  So  it  is  best  to  dismiss  them 
before  they  have  finished  the  first  part  of  their  sermon  ;  for  when 


Novel  14.J  Second  Day  99 

you  come  to  the  second,  you  cannot  refuse  them  with  so  much 
credit  to  yourself,  since  declared  vice  is  a  thing  to  be  rejected  as 
a  matter  of  course.”  , 

“  According  to  your  doctrine,  then,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  one 
ought  to  rebuff  a  man  as  soon  as  he  opens  his  mouth,  without 
knowing  what  he  has  to  say.” 

“Not  so,”  replied  Parlamente.  “Every  one  knows  that,  at 
the  outseM  a  woman  ought  not  to  let  it  appear  that  she  under¬ 
stands,  still  less  that  she  believes,  the  declaration  made  to  her  by 
a  lover;  but  when  he  comes  to  strong  oaths,  it  strikes  me  that  it 
is  more  becoming  in  the  lady  to  leave  him  in  the  middle  of  that 
fine  road  than  to  go  with  him  all  the  way  to  the  bottom.” 

“  Nay,  but  are  we  always  to  assume  that  they  love  us  with  a 
criminal  passion  ?”  said  Nomerfide.  “  Is  it  not  sinful  to  think 
ill  of  one’s  neighbour?” 

“You  may  believe  this  or  not,  as  you  please,”  said  Oisille  ; 
“  but  there  is  so  much  reason  for  fearing  that  such  is  the  case, 
that  the  moment  you  discover  the  least  inkling  of  it,  you  cannot 
be  too  prompt  in  getting  away  from  a  fire  which  is  too  apt  to 
burn  up  a  heart  before  even  it  is  once  perceived.” 

“  That  is  a  very  hard  law  you  lay  down,”  replied  Hircan. 
“  If  women,  whom  gentleness  becomes  so  well,  were  all  as 
rigorous  as  you  would  have  them  to  be,  we  men  would  lay  aside 
meekness  and  supplication,  and  have  recourse  to  stratagem  and 
violence.” 

“The  best  thing,”  said  Simontault,  “is,  that  every  one  should 
follow  the  bent  of  his  nature,  and  love  or  not,  as  he  pleases, 
but  always  without  dissimulation.” 

“  Would  to  God,”  exclaimed  Saffredent,  “  that  the  observance 
of  this  law  were  as  productive  of  honour  as  it  would  be  of  plea¬ 
sure  !” 

But  Dagoucin  could  not  refrain  from  observing,  “  Those  who 
would  rather  die  than  make  known  their  sentiments,  could  not 
endure  your  law.” 

44  Die  !  ”  cried  Hircan.  “  The  good  knight  is  yet  unborn  who 
would  die  for  any  such  cause.  But  let  us  say  no  more  of  what 
is  impossible,  and  see  to  whom  Simontault  will  give  his  voice.” 

“  To  Longarine,”  replied  the  gentleman  thus  appealed  to  ;  “  for 
1  observed  her  just  now  talking  to  herself.  I  suspect  she  was 
conning  over  some  good  thing,  and  she  is  not  wont  to  disguise 
the  truth  either  against  man  or  woman.” 

“Since  you  think  me  such  a  friend  to  the  truth,”  said  Longa¬ 
rine.  “  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  which,  though  not  quite  so  much 


103  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

to  the  credit  of  our  sex  as  I  could  wish,  will,  nevertheless,  show 
you  that  there  are  women  who  have  as  much  spirit  and  as  sound 
wits  as  men,  and  are  not  inferior  to  them  in  cunning-.  If  my 
story  is  somewhat  long,  I  will  endeavour  to  make  you  amends  by 
a  little  gaiety.’' 


NOVEL  XV. 

How  a  lady  of  the  court,  being  neglected  by  her  husband,  whose  love  was 
bestowed  elsewhere,  retaliated  upon  him. 

HERE  was  at  the  court  of  King  Francis  the  First  a 
gentleman  whom  I  could  name  if  l  would.  He  was 
poor,  not  having  five  hundred  livres  a  year  ;  but  the 
king  prized  him  so  highly  for  his  great  endowments, 
that  he  bestowed  upon  him  a  wife  so  wea'uhy  that  a  great  lord 
might  have  been  satisfied  with  such  a  match.  As  his  wife  was 
st •  1 1  very  young,  the  king  requested  one  of  the  greatest  ladies  ol 
the  court  to  take  her  into  her  household,  which  she  did  with 
great  willingness.  The  gentleman  was  so  well-bred  and  so 
good-looking,  that  he  was  greatly  esteemed  by  all  the  court 
ladies,  especially  by  one  of  them,  whom  the  king  loved,  and  who 
was  neither  so  young  nor  so  handsome  as  his  wife.  The  gentle¬ 
man  loved  this  lady  so  passionately,  and  made  so  little  account 
of  his  wife,  that  he  hardly  shared  her  bed  one  night  in  the  year; 
and  to  add  to  the  poor  creature’s  mortification,  he  never  spoke 
to  her,  or  showed  her  any  token  of  kindness  ;  a  sort  of  treatment 
which  she  found  it  very  hard  to  bear.  Meanwhile  he  spent  hei 
income  for  his  own  gratification,  and  allowed  her  so  small  a  share 
of  it,  that  she  had  not  wherewithal  to  dress  as  became  her  quality. 
The  lady  with  whom  she  resided  often  complained  of  this  to  the 
husband.  “Your  wife,”  she  said,  “is  hands  mne,  rich,  and  of 
a  good  family,  yet  you  neglect  her.  Her  extreme  youth  has  en¬ 
abled  her  hitherto  to  endure  this  neglect  ;  but  it  is  to  be  feared, 
that  when  she  comes  to  maturer  years,  her  mirror,  and  some  one 
who  is  no  friend  to  you,  will  so  set  before  her  eyes  her  beauty 
which  you  disdain,  that  resentment  w  11  prompt  her  to  do  what 
she  would  not  have  dared  to  think  of  if  you  had  treated  her 
better."  hut  the  gentleman,  whose  heart  was  set  elsewhere,  made 
light  of  these  judicious  remonstrances,  and  went  on  in  his  old  ways. 

After  two  or  three  years,  the  young  wife  began  to  be  one  of 
the  finest  women  in  France.  Her  reputation  was  so  great  that 
it  was  commonly  reported  at  court  that  she  had  not  her  equal. 
The  more  sensible  she  became  that  she  was  worthy  to  be  loved, 


Novel  15.]  Second  Day .  101 

the  more  poignantly  she  felt  her  husband’s  contemptuous  treat¬ 
ment,  and  but  for  the  efforts  of  her  mistress  to  console  her, 
she  would  almost  have  sunk  into  hopeless  melancholy.  After 
having  tried  in  vain  every  means  to  please  her  husband,  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  impossible  he  should  so  ill 
respond  to  the  love  she  bore  him  unless  he  were  captivated 
elsewhere.  With  this  idea  in  her  mind,  she  set  to  work  so  care¬ 
fully  and  so  shrewdly  that  she  found  out  where  it  was  he  was  so 
occupied  every  night  as  to  forget  his  conscience  and  his  wife. 
When  she  had  thus  got  certain  evidence  of  the  life  he  led,  she 
fell  into  such  deep  despondency  that  she  would  wear  nothing  but 
black,  and  shunned  all  places  of  amusement.  Her  mistress  per¬ 
ceived  this,  and  omitted  nothing  by  which  she  could  hope  to 
raise  her  out  ot  that  gloomy  mood  ;  but  all  her  kind  efforts  were 
unavailing.  Her  husband  was  made  acquainted  with  her  con¬ 
dition,  but  instead  of  caring  to  relieve  it,  he  only  laughed  at  it. 

A  great  lord  who  was  nearly  related  to  the  young  wife’s  pro¬ 
tectress,  and  who  paid  her  frequent  visits,  having  one  day  been 
informed  of  the  husband’s  hard-hearted  behaviour,  was  so  shocked 
at  it,  that  he  would  fain  try  to  console  the  wife  ;  but  he  was 
so  charmed  with  her  conversation  and  manners,  and  thought 
her  so  beautiful,  that  he  had  far  more  desire  to  make  her  love 
him  than  to  talk  to  her  of  her  husband,  except  it  was  to  let  her 
know  how  little  cause  she  had  to  love  such  a  man.  As  for  the 
young  lady  herself,  forsaken  by  him  who  ought  to  have  loved 
and  cherished  her,  and  wooed  by  a  lord  who  had  everything  to 
recommend  him,  she  thought  herself  fortunate  in  having  made 
such  a  conquest.  Though  she  desired  always  to  preserve  her 
honour,  nevertheless  she  took  great  pleasure  in  talking  to  him, 
and  in  seeing  that  she  was  loved,  a  thing  whereof  she  had,  so  to 
speak,  a  famishing  need.  This  tender  friendship  lasted  some 
time,  but  at  last  the  king  became  aware  of  it,  and  as  he  had 
a  great  regard  for  the  husband,  and  would  not  have  any  one  affront 
or  annoy  him,  he  begged  the  prince  to  discontinue  his  attentions, 
on  pain  of  incurring  the  royal  displeasure.  The  prince,  who 
prized  the  king’s  good  graces  above  all  the  ladies  in  the  world, 
promised  to  forego  his  designs,  since  such  was  the  king’s  wish, 
and  to  go  that  very  evening  and  bid  farewell  to  the  lady. 

That  evening  the  husband,  being  at  his  window,  saw  the 
prince  come  in  and  enter  his  wife’s  chamber,  which  was  beneath 
his  own.  The  prince  saw  him  too,  but  did  not  turn  back  for  all 
that.  On  sa>ing  farewell  to  her  whom  he  was  but  beginning  to 
love,  the  only  reason  he  alleged  for  this  change  in  him  was  the 


S03 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

king’s  command.  After  many  tears  and  lamentations,  which 
lasted  nearly  until  one  o’clock  in  the  morning,  the  lady  said  to 
him  at  parting,  “  I  thank  God,  my  lord,  for  ihe  grace  he  confers 
upon  me  in  depriving  me  of  your  friendship,  since  it  is  so  little 
and  so  weak  that  you  take  it  up  and  lay  it  down  at  the  com¬ 
mands  of  men.  As  for  me,  I  did  not  consult  either  mistress,  or 
husband,  or  myself,  whether  I  should  love  you  or  not.  Your 
engaging  manners  and  your  good  looks  won  my  heart;  but  since 
yours  is  less  amorous  than  timid,  you  cannot  love  perfectly,  and 
the  friend  who  is  not  true  and  staunch  to  the  uttermost  is  not  the 
friend  tor  me  to  love  thoroughly,  as  1  had  resolved  to  love  you  ; 
farewell,  then,  my  lord,  you  whose  timidity  does  not  deserve  a 
love  so  frank  and  so  sincere  as  mine.” 

The  prince  went  away  with  teais  in  his  eyes,  and  looking 
back,  he  again  saw  the  husband,  w.io  had  watched  him  in  and 
out.  Next  day  the  prince  told  him  why  he  had  gone  to  see  his 
wife,  and  acquainted  him  with  the  commands  laid  upon  him  by 
the  king,  where -it  the  gentieman  was  greatly  pleased,  and  gave 
much  thanks  to  his  sovereign.  But  seeing  that  his  wile  was 
becoming  more  beautiful  every  day,  and  he  himself  older  and 
less  good-looking,  he  began  to  change  his  part,  and  to  assume 
that  which  he  had  long  made  his  wife  play  ;  for  he  sought  her 
more  than  he  had  been  wont,  and  took  much  more  notice  of  her. 
But  the  more  he  sought  her  the  more  she  shunned  him,  being 
very  glad  to  pay  him  back  a  part  of  the  distress  he  had  caused 
her  by  his  indifference.  At  the  same  time,  not  to  miss  the  plea¬ 
sure  which  love  was  beginning  to  afford  her,  she  cast  her  eyes 
on  a  ycung  gentlc-man  whose  person  and  manners  were  so  en¬ 
gaging,  that  he  was  a  favourite  with  all  the  ladies  of  the  court. 
By  complaining  to  him  of  the  unkind  treatment  she  had  ex¬ 
perienced,  she  inspired  him  with  such  pity  for  her,  that  he  left 
nothing  untried  to  console  her.  On  her  part,  to  indemnify  her 
for  the  prince  she  had  lost,  she  loved  this  new  friend  so  heartily, 
that  she  forgot  her  past  griefs,  and  thought  only  of  the  means 
of  adroitly  carrying  on  her  intrigue  ;  and  in  this  she  succeeded 
so  well,  that  her  mistress  never  perceived  it,  for  she  took  good 
care  never  to  speak  in  her  presence  to  her  lover.  When  she  had 
anything  to  say  to  him,  she  went  to  see  certain  ladies  of  the 
court.  Among  these  was  o  le  with  whom  her  husband  seemed 
to  be  in  love. 

One  dark  night  after  supper  she  stole  away  alone,  and  entered 
the  ladies’  room,  where  she  found  him  whom  she  loved  more 
than  herself.  She  sat  down  beside  him,  and  leaning  over  a 


Novel  15.]  Second  Day.  103 

table  they  conversed  together,  whilst  they  pretended  to  be  reading 
a  book.  Some  one  whom  the  husband  had  set  on  the  watch 
came  and  told  him  whither  his  wife  was  gone  ;  and  he,  like  a 
sensible  man  as  he  was,  said  nothing,  but  followed  her  quickly, 
entered  the  room,  and  saw  her  reading  a  book.  Pretending  not 
to  see  her,  he  went  straight  up  to  the  ladies,  who  were  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room  ;  whilst  so  disconcerted  was  she  at  being 
found  by  him  with  a  man  to  whom  she  had  never  spoken  in  hij 
presence,  that  she  scrambled  over  a  table,  and  ran  away  as  if  her 
husband  was  pursuing  her  sword  in  hand,  and  went  to  her  mis¬ 
tress,  who  was  just  about  to  retire  for  the  night. 

After  her  mistress  was  undressed  and  she  had  left  the  room, 
she  met  one  of  her  own  women  coming  to  tell  her  that  her 
husband  wanted  her.  She  said  flatly  she  would  not  go  to  him, 
for  he  was  so  strange  and  harsh,  that  she  was  afraid  he  would 
do  her  some  mischief.  Nevertheless  she  went  at  last,  for  fear  of 
worse.  Her  husband  said  not  a  word  to  her  about  what  had 
occurred  until  they  were  in  bed  ;  but  then  as  she  could  not  help 
crying,  he  asked  her  the  cause  of  her  tears?  She  cried,  she 
said,  because  she  was  afraid  he  was  angry  at  having  found  her 
reading  with  a  gentleman.  The  husband  replied  that  he  had 
never  forbidden  her  to  speak  to  anybody  ;  but  that  he  had  been 
surprised  at  seeing  her  run  away,  as  if  she  had  done  something 
wrong  ;  and  that  this  had  made  him  believe  she  loved  the 
gentleman.  The  end  of  the  matter  was  that  he  forbade  her 
thenceforward  to  speak  to  any  man,  either  in  public  or  in  pri¬ 
vate,  assuring  her  that  otherwise  he  would  kill  her  without 
mercy.  But  to  forbid  things  we  like  is  the  surest  way  to  make 
us  desire  them  more  ardently,  and  it  was  not  long  before  this 
poor  woman  had  forgotten  her  husband’s  threats  and  her  own 
promises. 

The  very  same  evening,  having  gone  back  to  sleep  with  other 
demoiselles  and  her  attendants,  she  sent  to  invite  the  gentleman 
to  visit  her  at  night.  Her  husband,  whose  jealousy  kept  him 
awake,  and  who  had  heard  that  the  gentleman  used  to  visit  his 
wife  at  night,  wrapped  himself  up  in  a  cloak,  took  a  valet  de 
chambre  with  him,  and  went  and  knocked  at  his  wife’s  door. 
Up  she  got,  and  seeing  her  women  all  asleep,  she  went  alone  in 
her  mantle  and  slippers  to  the  door,  never  in  the  least  suspecting 
who  was  there.  Her  inquiry,  who  was  there  ?  was  answered  in 
her  lover’s  name;  but  for  her  better  assurance,  she  half  opened  the 
wicket  and  said,  “  If  you  are  the  person  you  say,  give  me  your 
hand,  and  I  shall  know  if  you  speak  truly.”  The  moment  she 


I 


X04  The  Hepta??icron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre 

felt  her  husband’s  hand,  she  recognised  him,  and  slamming  the 
wicket,  cried  out,  “  Ha,  monsieur  !  it  is  your  hand.” 

“Yes,”  cried  her  husband,  in  a  great  passion,  “it  is  the  hand 
that  will  keep  word  with  you.  So  fail  not  to  come  when  1  send 
for  you.” 

With  that  he  went  away,  and  she  returned  to  her  chamber 
more  dead  than  alive.  “Get  up,  my  friends,”  she  cried  to  her 
women  ;  “get  up.  You  have  slept  too  long  for  me.  I  thought 
to  trick  you,  and  I  have  been  tricked  myself,”  and  saying  this, 
she  fainted  away.  Her  women,  thus  suddenly  roused  from  their 
sleep,  were  astonished  at  her  words,  and  still  more  when  they 
saw  her  lying  like  a  corpse,  and  they  ran  hurriedly  to  and  fro  in 
search  of  means  to  revive  her.  When  she  had  recovered  her 
speech,  she  said  to  them,  “You  see  before  you,  my  friends,  the 
most  wretched  creature  in  the  world.”  Then  she  related  to 
them  her  adventure,  entreating  them  to  stand  by  her,  for  she 
looked  upon  herself  already  as  a  dead  woman.  While  her 
women  were  endeavouring  to  comfort  her,  a  valet  de  chambre 
arrived  with  a  message  from  her  husband,  ordering  her  to  come 
to  him  instantly.  Thereupon  she  embraced  two  of  her  women, 
and  began  to  cry  and  shriek,  beseeching  them  not  to  let  her 
go,  for  she  was  sure  she  should  never  return.  The  valet  de 
chambre,  however,  bade  her  not  be  afraid,  for  he  would  answer 
for  it  with  his  life  that  no  harm  should  happen  to  her.”  Seeing, 
then,  that  resistance  was  useless,  she  threw  herself  into  the 
valet’s  arms,  saying,  “Since  it  must  be  so,  my  friend,  carry  this 
wretched  body  to  death  ;  ”  and  in  fact  he  carried,  rather  than 
led  her  away,  for  she  was  almost  in  a  swoon.  The 'moment  she 
entered  her  husband's  room,  she  fell  on  her  knees,  and  said, 
“  Have  pity  on  me,  monsieur,  I  beseech  you  ;  and  I  swear  to 
you  before  God  that  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth.” 

“  That  I  am  determined  you  shall,”  replied  the  husband  in 
a  furious  tone,  and  ordered  every  one  to  quit  the  room.  As 
his  wife  had  always  seemed  to  him  very  devout,  he  thought  she 
would  not  perjure  herself  if  he  made  her  swear  on  the  cross. 
He  therefore  sent  for  a  very  handsome  one  he  had,  and  when 
they  were  alone  he  made  her  swear  on  that  cross  that  she  would 
speak  the  truth  as  to  such  questions  as  he  should  put  to  her. 
By  this  time  she  had  been  able  to  rally  her  spirits,  and  having 
partly  recovered  from  her  first  terror,  she  resolved  to  conceal 
nothing,  but  at  the  same  time  not  to  say  anything  which  could 
compromise  her  lover.  Her  husband  then  put  the  questions  he 
deemed  necessary,  and  this  was  how  she  replied  to  them  : 


Novel  15  ]  Second  Day.  105 

“  I  will  not  attempt  to  justify  myself,  monsieur,  or  to  make 
little  of  the  love  1  have  entertained  lor  the  gentleman  who  is  the 
cause  of  your  jealousy.  Whatever  I  might  say  to  that  effect, 
you  could  not  and  ought  not  to  believe  it  after  what  has 
occurred  ;  but  1  must  tell  you  what  has  occasioned  this  love. 
Never  wife  so  loved  her  husband  as  I  loved  you  ;  and  but  for 
your  unkindness  1  should  never  have  loved  any  one  but  you. 
You  know  that  while  1  was  yet  a  child,  my  parents  wished  to 
marry  me  to  a  man  of  higher  birth  than  you  ;  but  they  could 
never  make  me  consent  to  it  from  the  moment  I  had  spoken  to 
you.  1  declared  for  you  in  spite  of  all  they  could  say,  and 
without  caring  for  your  poverty.  You  know  in  what  manner 
you  have  treated  me  hitherto.  This  has  caused  me  such  grief 
and  vexation,  that  but  lor  the  support  of  the  lady  with  whom 
you  have  placed  me,  I  should  have  sunk  under  my  despair. 
But  at  last,  seeing  myself  full-grown,  and  esteemed  fair  by  every 
one  but  you,  I  began  to  leel  so  acutely  the  wrong  you  did  me, 
that  the  love  1  had  for  you  turned  into  hatred,  and  the  desire  of 
pleasing  you  into  that  of  revenging  myself.  While  in  this 
desperate  mood,  I  had  opportunity  to  see  a  prince,  who,  more 
obedient  to  the  king  than  to  love,  forsook  me  at  a  time  when  I 
was  beginning  to  derive  consolation  from  an  honourable  love. 
After  1  had  lost  the  prince,  1  found  one  who  had  no  need  to  be 
at  any  pains  to  woo  me,  for  his  good  looks,  his  deportment,  and 
his  excellent  endowments,  are  enough  to  make  him  an  object 
of  interest  to  all  women  of  sense.  At  my  solicitation,  and  not 
at  his  own,  he  has  loved  me  with  such  propriety  that  he  has 
never  asked  of  me  anything  inconsistent  with  my  honour. 
Though  the  little  cause  1  have  to  love  you  might  induce  me 
to  mat*e  light  of  my  wedded  faith,  yet  my  love  for  God  and 
my  own  honour  have  hitherto  prevented  me  from  doing  any¬ 
thing  I  have  need  to  confess,  or  which  can  make  me  apprehen¬ 
sive  of  infamy.  I  do  not  deny  that,  under  pretence  of  going 
to  say  my  prayers,  I  have  retired  as  olten  as  I  could  into  a 
gardcrobe  to  converse  with  him  ;  for  I  have  never  confided  the 
conduct  of  this  affair  to  any  one.  Nor  yet  do  I  deny,  that  being 
in  such  a  private  place,  and  safe  from  all  suspicion,  I  have 
kis>ed  him  with  more  hearty  good-will  than  I  kiss  you  ;  but 
.Hr  y  God  never  show  me  mercy  if  anything  else  ever  happened 
in  our  tete-a-tetes%  or  if  he  ever  asked  me  for  more,  or  my  own 
heart  ever  harboured  a  thought  of  gtanting  anything  besides  ; 
for  I  was  so  h^ppy,  that  it  seemed  to  me  there  could  not  be  in 
the  world  a  greater  pleasure  than  that  which  I  enjoyed. 


106  The  Heptame^on  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

“But  you,  sir,  who  are  the  sole  cause  of  my  misfortunes, 
would  you  desire  to  be  revenged  for  conduct  of  which  you  have 
so  long  been  setting  me  an  example,  with  this  difference,  that 
what  you  have  done  you  have  done  without  honour  and  without 
conscience  ?  You  know,  and  I  know  too,  that  she  whom  you 
love  does  not  content  herself  with  what  God  and  reason  com¬ 
mand.  Though  the  laws  of  men  condemn  to  infamy  women 
who  love  any  others  than  their  husbands,  the  law  of  God,  which 
is  infinitely  more  venerable  and  more  august,  condemns  men 
who  love  any  other  women  than  their  own  wives.  If  the  faults 
we  have  both  committed  be  weighed  in  the  balance,  you  will  be 
found  more  guilty  than  I.  You  are  a  wise  man  ;  you  have  age 
and  experience  enough  to  know  evil,  and  shun  it ;  but  I  am 
young,  and  have  no  experience  of  the  force  and  might  of  love. 
You  have  a  wife  who  loves  you,  and  to  whom  you  are  dearer 
than  her  own  life  ;  and  I  have  a  husband  who  shuns  me,  hates 
me,  and  treats  me  with  such  harshness  as  he  would  not  show 
to  a  servant  woman.  You  love  a  woman  in  years,  lean  and 
lanky,  and  not  so  handsome  as  I  am  ;  and  I  love  a  gentleman, 
younger  than  you,  handsomer,  and  more  agreeable.  You  love 
the  wife  of  your  best  friend  and  the  mistress  of  your  sovereign, 
thus  violating  friendship  and  the  respect  you  owe  to  both  ;  and 
I  love  a  gentleman  who  has  no  other  ties  than  his  love  for 
me.  Judge  now,  sir,  without  partiality,  which  of  us  two  is  the 
more  to  be  condemned  or  excused.  I  do  not  believe  there  exists 
a  man  of  sense  and  knowledge  of  Ihe  world  who  would  not 
give  his  verdict  against  you,  seeing  that  I  am  young  and 
ignorant,  despised  by  you  and  loved  by  the  handsomest  and 
best-bred  gentleman  in  France,  and  that  notwithstanding  all  that, 
l  love  him  only  because  I  despair  of  being  loved  by  you.” 

Hearing  such  home  truths  as  these  delivered  by  the  lips  of 
a  beautiful  woman,  with  such  grace  and  assurance  that  it  was 
easy  to  see  she  did  not  think  herself  deserving  of  any  punish¬ 
ment,  the  husband  was  so  confounded  that  he  knew  not  what 
to  reply,  except  that  a  man’s  honour  and  a  woman’s  were 
different  things.  Nevertheless,  as  she  swore  that  nothing  cri¬ 
minal  had  taken  place  between  her  and  her  lover,  it  was  not  his 
intention  to  love  her  less  ;  but  he  begged  that  she  would  offend 
no  more,  and  that  they  should  both  forgive  and  forget  the  past 
She  gave  a  promise  to  that  effect,  and,  the  reconciliation  being 
effected,  they  went  to  bed  together. 

Next  morning  an  old  demoiselle,  who  was  greatly  alarmed  for 
her  mistress’s  life,  came  to  her  bedside  and  said,  “  Well,  madam 


Novel  15.  j  Second  Day .  107 

how  do  you  find  yourself  ?  ”  “  There  is  not  a  better  husband  in 

the  world  than  mine,”  she  replied,  laughing,  “  for  he  believed  me 
An  my  oath.”  In  this  way  five  or  six  days  passed  in  apparent 
harmony  between  the  married  pair  ;  meanwhile,  however,  the 
husband,  whose  jealousy  was  not  at  all  allayed,  had  his  wife 
narrowly  watched  night  and  day  ;  but  in  spite  of  all  this  vigi¬ 
lance  his  spies  could  not  hinder  the  lady  from  again  entertaining 
her  lover  in  a  dark  and  very  suspicious  place.  Nevertheless, 
she  managed  the  matter  so  secretly,  that  no  one  could  ever  know* 
the  truth  for  certain  ;  only  some  valet  set  a  story  afloat  that 
he  had  found  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  in  a  stable  which  was 
under  the  chamber  occupied  by  the  mistress  of  the  lady  in 
question.  Upon  this  doubtful  evidence  the  husband’s  jealousy 
became  so  increased  that  he  resolved  to  have  the  gallant  assas¬ 
sinated  ;  and  he  assembled  for  that  purpose  a  great  number  of 
relations  and  friends,  who  were  to  dispatch  him  in  case  they 
met  him.  But  it  happened  that  one  of  the  principal  persons 
among  the  confederates  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  man  whose 
death  they  plotted  ;  and  instead  of  surprising  him,  he  put  him 
fully  on  his  guard  ;  and  the  gentleman  was  such  a  general 
favourite,  and  always  had  such  a  good  escort  of  friends,  that  he 
did  not  fear  his  enemy  ;  nor  was  he  ever  assailed. 

He  thought  it  right,  however,  to  have  a  conference  with  the 
lady  under  whose  protection  his  fair  one  resided,  and  who  had 
never  heard  a  word  of  the  whole  affair,  for  he  had  never  spoken 
with  the  young  lady  in  her  presence.  Going  to  a  church,  where 
he  knew  that  she  was,  he  acquainted  her  with  the  husband’s 
jealousy,  and  the  design  he  had  formed  against  his  life,  and 
told  her,  that  although  he  was  innocent,  he  was  resolved  to  go 
and  travel  in  foreign  countries,  in  order  to  extinguish  the  false 
report  that  was  beginning  to  gathe~  strength.  The  princess  was 
greatly  astonished  at  hearing  such  news,  and  vowed  that  the 
husband  did  very  wrong  to  suspect  so  virtuous  a  woman  as  his 
wife,  and  one  in  whom  she  had  never  seen  anything  but  virtue 
and  propriety.  However,  considering  the  husband’s  influence, 
and  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  this  scandalous  report,  she  advised 
him  to  withdraw  for  some  time,  assuring  him  she  would  never 
believe  any  such  idle  fancies  and  suspicions.  Furthermore,  she 
advised  him  to  speak  to  the  husband  before  his  departure. 

He  took  her  advice,  and  meeting  the  husband  in  a  gallery 
near  the  king’s  chamber,  he  said  to  him  with  an  assured 
countenance,  and  with  the  respect  due  to  a  man  of  his  rank, 

“  I  have  all  my  life  desired,  monsieur,  to  render  you  service, 


io8  The  Heptarneron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

and  I  learn  that  in  return  you  laid  wait,  yesterday  evening,  foi 
my  life.  I  beg  you  to  consider,  monsieur,  that  although  you 
have  more  power  and  authority  than  I,  nevertheless  I  am 
a  gentleman  as  well  as  you,  and  I  should  be  very  loth  to  part 
with  my  life  for  nothing.  I  entreat  you  also  to  consider  that 
you  have  a  virtuous  wife,  and  if  any  one  chooses  to  say  the 
contrary,  I  will  tell  him  that  he  foully  lies.  For  my  part,  I  am 
not  conscious  of  having  done  anything  that  should  give  you 
cause  for  wishing  me  ill  ;  therefore,  if  it  so  please  you,  I  will 
remain  your  obedient  servant  ;  or  if  not,  I  am  the  king’s,  and 
that  is  enough  for  me.” 

The  husband  replied,  that  true  it  was  he  had  suspected  him  ; 
but  he  thought  him  so  gallant  a  man  that  he  would  rather 
be  his  friend  than  his  enemy  ;  and,  taking  leave  of  him,  hat 
in  hand,  he  embraced  him  as  a  friend.  You  may  imagine 
what  was  said  by  those  who  had  been  commissioned  on  the 
preceding  evening  to  kill  the  gentleman,  when  they  witnessed 
these  demonstrations  of  esteem  and  friendship.  The  lover  then 
set  out  on  his  travels  ;  but  as  he  had  less  money  than  good 
looks,  his  mistress  gave  him  a  ring  her  husband  had  given  her, 
worth  three  thousand  crowns,  which  he  pawned  for  fifteen 
hundred. 

Some  time  after  his  departure  the  husband  waited  on  the 
princess,  and  begged  leave  for  his  wife  to  pass  some  months 
with  one  of  his  sisters.  The  princess  was  much  surprised  at 
this  unexpected  request,  and  pressed  him  so  much  to  tell  her 
the  reason  of  it,  that  he  partially  explained  it  to  her.  The 
young  lady  then  having  taken  her  leave  of  her  mistress  and 
the  whole  court,  without  shedding  tears,  or  showing  the  least 
sign  of  grief,  set  out  for  the  place  to  which  her  husband  chose 
to  send  her,  under  the  care  of  a  gentleman  who  had  express 
orders  to  watch  her  carefully,  and  above  all,  not  to  suffer  her 
to  speak  on  the  road  with  the  suspected  person.  Being  aware 
of  the  nature  of  the  orders  given  to  her  escort,  she  every 
day  gave  them  alarms,  and  made  game  of  their  vigilance. 
On  the  day  she  began  her  journey,  she  fell  in  with  a  Cordelier 
on  horseback,  and  chatted  with  him  from  dinner  almost  till 
bedtime.  When  they  were  within  a  good  league  of  the  inn, 
she  said  to  him,  “  Here,  father,  are  two  crowns  for  the  con¬ 
solations  you  have  afforded  me ;  I  have  wrapped  them  in 
paper  as  you  see,  for  otherwise  I  know  you  would  not  venture 
to  touch  them.  Do  me  the  favour  to  set  off  at  a  gallop  across 
the  country  the  moment  you  quit  my  side,  and  take  care  that 


DEUXIEMF.  J  0  U  R  X  £  E . 

Nnuvelle  XI  (Appendice) 


Novel  15.I  Second  Day.  109 

• 

you  are  not  seen  by  the  people  about  me.  I  say  this  for  your 
good  and  for  the  obligation  I  am  under  to  you.” 

.  Off  went  the  Cordelier  accordingly  ;  and  no  sooner  had  he 
gone,  than  she  said  to  her  attendants,  “  Good  servants  you  are, 
forsooth,  and  very  vigilant  guards.  Properly  you  fulfil  the 
orders  of  your  master  who  confided  in  you.  The  very  person 
with  whom  you  have  been  commanded  not  to  suffer  me  to 
speak,  has  been  conversing  with  me  the  whole  day,  and  you 
have  let  him  alone.  You  deserve  the  stick,  and  not  wages.” 
The  gentleman  to  whose  care  the  fair  lady  had  been  entrusted 
was  so  vexed  at  hearing  this,  that  he  could  not  answer  her  a 
single  word.  Taking  two  men  with  him,  he  set  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  galloped  after  the  Cordelier,  who  did  his  best  to 
escape,  seeing  himself  pursued  ;  but  as  they  were  better  mounted 
they  overtook  him.  The  good  father,  who  had  no  idea  why 
they  treated  him  in  that  manner,  roared  for  mercy,  and  in 
suppliant  humility  took  off  his  hood  and  remained  bareheaded. 
They  then  perceived  that  he  was  not  the  person  they  had  taken 
him  for,  and  that  their  mistress  had  made  fools  of  them  ;  which 
she  did  more  cruelly  still  when  they  came  back  from  their  chase. 
“  You  are  proper  men,”  she  said,  “to  be  entrusted  with  the  care 
of  women.  You  let  them  talk  without  knowing  to  whom,  and 
then  believing  anything  they  choose  to  tell  you,  you  go  and 
insult  God’s  servants.” 

After  several  other  pranks  as  humorous  as  this,  she  reached 
the  place  of  her  destination,  where  her  two  sisters-in-law  and 
the  husband  of  one  of  them  kept  her  in  great  subjection.  By 
this  time  the  husband  learned  that  her  ring  was  pledged  for 
fifteen  hundred  crowns.  To  save  the  honour  of  his  wife  and 
recover  the  ring,  he  sent  her  word  to  redeem  it,  and  that  he 
would  pay  the  money.  Caring  nothing  for  the  ring  since  h@r 
lover  had  the  money  for  it,  she  wrote  to  him  that  her  husband 
constrained  her  to  reclaim  it,  and  lest  he  should  suppose  that 
she  loved  him  less  than  before,  she  sent  him  a  diamond  which 
her  mistress  had  given  her,  and  which  she  prized  more  than  all 
her  other  jewels.  Her  lover  cheerfully  sent  her  the  merchant’s 
obligation,  thinking  himself  well  off  to  have  fifteen  hundred 
crowns  and  a  diamond  ;  but  glad  above  all  things  at  being 
assured  that  his  mistress  loved  him  still.  As  long  as  the 
husband  lived,  they  remained  apart,  and  could  only  correspond 
in  writing.  Upon  the  husband’s  death,  the  lover,  supposing 
that  his  mistress  still  retained  the  same  feelings  towards  him 
which  she  had  always  professed,  lost  no  time  in  demanding  her 


IIO 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

hand  in  marriage  ;  but  found  that  long  absence  had  given  him  a 
rival  who  was  preferred  to  himself.  He  was  so  mortified  at  this, 
that,  shunning  all  intercourse  with  ladies,  he  wooed  danger,  and 
died  at  last,  after  having  distinguished  himself  as  much  as  ever 
young  man  did. 

This  tale,  ladies,  in  which  our  sex  is  not  spared,  conveys  this 
lesson  to  husbands  :  that  wives  of  high  spirit  suffer  themselves 
to  be  led  astray  by  resentment  and  vindictiveness,  rather  than  by 
the  charms  of  love.  The  heroine  of  this  novel  long  resisted 
that  sweet  passion,  but  at  last  gave  way  to  her  despair.  A  good 
woman  should  not  do  like  her,  for  there  is  no  excuse  for  a- bad 
action.  The  more  one  is  exposed  to  do  wrong,  the  more  virtue 
there  is  in  overcoming  one’s  self  and  doing  well,  instead  of 
rendering  evil  for  evil  ;  especially  as  the  ill  one  thinks  to  do 
to  another  often  recoils  upon  the  doer.  Happy  those  women 
in  whom  God  manifests  the  virtues  of  chastity,  meekness,  and 
patience. 

“It  strikes  me,  Longarine,”  said  Hircan,  “that  the  lady  you 
have  been  telling  us  of  was  inspired  by  resentment  more  than  by 
love  ;  for  had  she  loved  the  gentleman  as  much  as  she  pre¬ 
tended,  she  would  never  have  quitted  him  for  another  ;  and 
therefore  she  may  be  called  spiteful,  vindictive,  obstinate,  and 
fickle.” 

“You  talk  at  your  ease  on  such  matters,”  said  Ennasuite, 
“but  you  know  not  what  a  heart-break  it  is  to  love  without 
being  loved.” 

“  It  is  true  I  have  little  experience  in  that  way,”  said  Hircan  ; 
“  for  only  let  a  lady  show  the  least  coldness  towards  me,  and  at 
once  I  bid  adieu  to  love  and  her.” 

“  That  is  all  very  well,”  said  Parlamente,  “for  a  man  like  you, 
who  loves  only  his  own  pleasure  ;  but  an  upright  wife  ought  not 
to  forsake  her  husband.” 

“And  yet,”  observed  Simontault,  “the  fair  one  in  question 
forgot  for  awhile  that  she  was  a  woman  ;  for  a  man  could  not 
have  revenged  himself  more  signally.” 

“It  is  not  fair,”  said  Osille,  “to  conclude  from  one  instance 
of  a  naughty  woman,  that  all  others  are  like  her.” 

“You  are  all  women,  however,”  replied  Safifredent ;  “and 
however  bravely  adorned  you  may  be,  any  one  who  looked 
carefully  under  your  petticoats  would  find  that  you  are  so.” 

“  We  should  do  nothing  but  wrangle  all  day,  if  we  were  to 
listen  to  you,”  said  Nomerfide.  “  But  I  so  long  to  hear  another 
story,  that  I  beg  Longarine  to  call  on  some  one.” 


Novel  1 6.]  Second  Day .  m 

Longarine  cast  her  eyes  on  Geburon,  and  said,  "  If  you  have 
a  story  to  tell  of  some  good  lady,  pray  do  so  now.’* 

“Since  you  call  upon  me,”  replied  Geburon,  “I  will  relate  to 
you  a  thing  that  happened  at  Milan.” 


NOVEL  XVI. 

Of  a  Milanese  lady  who  tested  her  lover’s  courage,  and  afterwards 

loved  him  heartily. 

HEN  the  Grand-Master  of  Chaumont  was  governor  of 
Milan,  there  was  a  lady  there  who  passed  for  one  of 
the  most  respectable  in  the  city.  She  was  the  widow 
of  an  Italian  count,  and  resided  with  her  brothers-in- 
law,  not  choosing  to  hear  a  word  about  marrying  again.  Her 
conduct  was  so  correct  and  guarded  that  she  was  highly  esteemed 
by  all  the  French  and  Italians  in  the  duchy.  One  day,  when 
her  brothers  and  sisters- in-law  entertained  the  Grand- Master  of 
Chaumont,  the  widow  could  not  help  being  present,  contrary  to 
her  custom  of  never  appearing  at  any  festive  meeting.  The 
French  could  not  see  her  without  praising  her  beauty  and  her 
grace  ;  one  among  them  especially,  whom  I  will  not  name.  It 
is  enough  to  inform  you  that  there  was  not  a  Frenchman  in 
Italy  more  worthy  to  be  loved,  for  he  was  fully  endowed  with  all 
the  beauties  and  graces  which  a  gentleman  could  have.  Though 
he  saw  the  widow  dressed  in  black  crape,  apart  from  the  young 
people,  and  withdrawn  into  a  corner  with  several  old  ladies,  yet, 
being  one  who  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  fear  man  or 
woman,  he  accosted  her,  took  off  his  mask,  and  quitted  the 
dance  to  converse  with  her.  He  passed  the  whole  evening  with 
her  and  the  old  ladies  her  companions,  and  enjoyed  himself 
more  than  he  could  have  done  with  the  youngest  and  sprightliest 
ladies  of  the  court.  So  charmed  was  he  with  this  conversation, 
that  when  it  was  time  to  retire  he  hardly  believed  he  had  had 
time  to  sit  down.  Though  he  talked  with  the  widow  only  upon 
common  topics,  suited  to  the  company  around  her,  she  failed  not 
to  perceive  that  he  was  anxious  to  make  her  acquaintance,  which 
she  was  so  resolute  to  prevent,  that  he  could  never  afterwards 
meet  with  her  in  any  company,  great  or  small. 

At  last,  having  made  inquiries  as  to  her  habits  of  life,  and 
learned  that  she  went  often  to  the  churches  and  religious  houses, 
he  set  so  many  people  on  the  watch  that  she  could  not  go  to  any 
of  those  places  so  secretly  but  that  he  was  there  before  her,  and 


112 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

stayed  as  long  as  he  could  see  her.  He  made  such  good  use  ol 
his  time,  and  gazed  at  her  with  such  hearty  good  will,  that  she 
could  not  be  ignorant  <  f  his  passion  ;  and  to  prevent  these 
encounters  she  resolved  o  feign  illness  for  some  time,  and  heat 
mass  at  home.  This  was  a  bitter  mortification  to  the  gentleman, 
for  he  was  thus  deprivtd  of  his  only  means  of  seeing  her.  At 
last,  when  she  thought  she  had  baffled  his  plans,  she  returned  to 
the  churches  as  before,  and  Love  took  care  forthwith  to  make 
this  known  to  the  gentleman,  who.  then  resumed  his  habits  of 
devotion.  Ftaring  lest  she  should  throw  some  other  obstacle  in 
his  way,  and  that  he  should  n  >t  have  time  to  make  known  to  her 
what  he  felt,  one  morning,  when  she  was  hearing  mass  in  a  little 
chapel,  where  she  thought  herself  snugly  concealed,  he  placed 
himself  at  the  end  of  the  altar,  and  turning  to  her  at  the 
moment  when  the  priest  was  elevating  the  host,  said,  in  a  voice 
of  deep  feeling,  “  l  swear  to  you,  madam,  by  Him  whom  the 
priest  holds  in  his  hands,  that  you  are  the  sole  cause  of  my 
death.  Though  you  deprive  me  of  all  opportunity  to  address 
you,  yet  you  cannot  be  ignorant  of  the  passion  I  entertain  for 
you.  My  haggard  eyes  and  death  like  countenance  must  have 
sufficiently  made  known  to  you  my  condition.”  The  lady  pre¬ 
tended  not  to  understand  him,  and  replied,  “  God’s  name  ought 
nor.  to  be  taken  in  vain  ;  but  the  poets  say  that  the  gods  laugh 
at  the  oaths  and  falsehoods  of  lovers,  wherefore  women  who 
prize  their  honour  ought  neither  to  be  credulous  nor  pitiful. 
So  saying,  she  rose  and  went  home. 

Those  who  have  been  in  the  like  predicament  will  readily 
believe  that  the  gentleman  was  sorely  cast  down  at  receiving 
such  a  reply.  However,  as  he  did  not  lack  courage,  he  thought 
it  better  to  have  met  with  a  rebuff  than  to  have  missed  an 
opportunity  of  declaring  his  love.  He  persevered  for  three 
years,  and  lost  not  a  moment  in  which  he  could  solicit  her  by 
letters  and  by  other  means  ;  but  during  all  that  time  she  never 
made  him  any  other  reply,  but  shunned  him  as  the  wolf  shuns 
the  mastiff ;  and  that  not  by  reason  of  any  aversion  she  felt  for 
him,  but  because  she  was  afraid  of  exposing  her  honour  and  re¬ 
putation.  The  gentleman  was  so  well  aware  that  there  lay  the 
knot  of  the  difficulty,  that  he  pushed  matters  more  briskly  than 
ever  ;  till,  after  a  world  of  trouble,  refusals,  and  sufferings,  the 
lady  was  touched  by  his  constancy,  took  pity  on  him,  and 
granted  him  what  he  had  so  long  desired  and  waited  for. 

The  assignation  having  been  made,  and  the  requisite  measures 
concerted,  the  gentleman  failed  not  to  present  himself  at  the 


Not'd  1 6.]  Second  Day .  113 

rendezvous,  at  whatever  risk  of  his  life,  for  the  fair  widow 
resided  with  her  relations.  But  as  he  was  not  less  cunning  than 
handsome,  he  managed  so  adroitly  that  he  was  in  the  lady’s 
chamber  at  the  moment  appointed.  He  found  her  alone  in  a 
handsome  bed  ;  but  as  he  was  undressing  in  eager  haste,  he 
heard  whisperings  outside  the  chamber-door,  and  the  noise  of 
swords  clashing  against  the  walls.  “  We  are  undone,”  cried  the 
widow,  more  dead  than  alive.  “Your  life  and  my  honour  are  in 
mortal  peril.  My  brothers  are  coming  to  kill  you.  Hide  your¬ 
self  under  the  bed,  I  beseech  you  ;  for  then  they  will  not  find 
you,  and  I  shall  have  a  right  to  complain  of  their  alarming  me 
without  cause.” 

The  gentleman,  who  was  not  easily  frightened,  coolly  replied, 
**  What  are  your  brothers  that  they  should  make  a  man  of  honour 
afraid  ?  If  their  whole  race  was  assembled  at  the  door,  I  am 
confident  they  would  not  stand  the  fourth  lunge  of  my  sword. 
Remain  quietly  in  bed,  therefore,  and  leave  me  to  guard  the  door.” 

Then  wrapping  his  cloak  round  his  left  arm,  and  with  his 
sword  in  his  hand,  he  opened  the  door,  and  saw  that  the 
threatening  weapons  were  brandished  by  two  servant  maids. 
“  Forgive  us,  monsieur,”  they  said.  “  It  is  by  our  mistress’s 
orders  we  do  this  ;  but  you  shall  have  no  more  annoyance  from 
us.”  The  gentleman,  seeing  that  his  supposed  antagonists  were 
women,  contented  himself  with  bidding  them  go  to  the  devil, 
and  slamming  the  door  in  their  faces.  He  then  jumped  into 
bed  to  his  mistress  without  delay.  Fear  had  not  cooled  his 
ardour,  and  without  wasting  time  in  asking  the  meaning  of  the 
sham  alarm,  he  thought  only  of  satisfying  his  passion. 

Towards  daylight,  he  asked  his  bedfellow  why  she  had  so  long 
delayed  his  happiness,  and  what  was  her  reason  for  making  her 
servants  behave  so  oddly.  “  I  had  resolved,”  she  said,  laughing, 
“never  to  love  ;  and  I  have  adhered  to  that  resolution  ever  since 
I  became  a  widow.  But  the  first  time  you  spoke  to  me,  I  saw  so 
much  to  admire  in  you  that  I  changed  my  mind,  and  began  from 
that  hour  to  love  you  as  much  as  you  loved  me.  It  is  true  that 
honour,  which  has  always  been  the  ruling  principle  of  my  conduct, 
would  not  suffer  love  to  make  me  do  anything  which  might 
blemish  my  reputation.  But  as  the  stricken  deer  thinks  to  change 
its  pain  by  change  of  place,  so  did  I  go  from  church  to  church, 
hoping  to  fly  from  him  whom  I  carried  in  my  heart,  the  proof  of 
whose  perfect  love  has  reconciled  honour  with  love.  But  to  be 
thoroughly  assured  that  I  gave  my  heart  to  a  man  who  was 
perfectly  worthy  of  it,  I  ordered  my  women  to  do  as  they  have 

% 


1X4  The  Heptameron  of  the  Quee?i  of  Navarre. 

done.  I  can  assure  you,  if  you  had  been  frightened  enough  to 
hide  under  the  bed,  my  intention  was  to  have  got  up  and  gone 
into  another  room,  and  never  have  had  anything  more  to  do  with 
you.  But  as  I  have  found  you  not  only  comely  and  pleasing,  but 
also  full  of  valour  and  intrepidity  to  a  degree  even  beyond  whal 
fame  had  reported  you  ;  as  I  have  seen  that  fear  could  not  appal 
you,  nor  in  the  least  degree  cool  the  ardour  of  your  passion  foi 
me,  I  have  resolved  to  attach  myself  to  you  for  the  rest  of  my 
days  ;  being  well  assured  that  I  cannot  place  my  life  and  my 
honour  in  better  hands  than  in  those  of  him  whom  of  all  men  in 
the  world  I  believe  to  be  the  bravest  and  the  best.”  * 

As  if  human  will  could  be  immutable,  they  mutually  promised 
and  vowed  a  thing  which  was  not  in  their  power — I  mean,  per¬ 
petual  affection,  which  can  neither  grow  up  nor  abide  in  the 
hearts  of  men,  as  those  ladies  know  who  have  learned  by  ex¬ 
perience  what  is  the  duration  of  such  engagements.  Therefore, 
ladies,  if  you  are  wise,  you  will  be  on  your  guard  against  us,  as 
the  stag  would  be  against  the  hunter  if  the  animal  had  reason  . 
for  our  felicity,  our  glory,  and  delight  is  to  see  you  captured,  and 
to  despoil  you  of  what  ought  to  be  dearer  to  you  than  life. 

“  Since  when  have  you  turned  preacher,  Geburon  ?  ”  said 
Hircan.  “  You  did  not  always  talk  in  that  fashion.” 

“  It  is  true,”  replied  Geburon,  “that  I  have  all  my  life  long 
held  a  quite  different  language  ;  but  as  my  teeth  are  bad,  and 
I  can  no  longer  chew  venison,  I  warn  the  poor  deer  against  the 
hunters,  that  I  may  make  amends  in  my  old  age  for  the  mischiefs 
I  have  desired  in  my  youth.” 

“Thank  you,  Geburon,  for  your  warning,”  retorted  Nomerfide, 
“  but  after  all,  we  doubt  that  we  have  much  reason  to  be  obliged 
to  you  ;  for  you  did  not  speak  in  that  way  to  the  lady  you  loved 
so  much,  therefore  it  is  a  p,roof  that  you  do  not  love  us,  or  yet 
wish  that  we  should  love.  Y£t  we  believe  ourselves  to  be  as  pru¬ 
dent  and  virtuous  as  those  you  so  long  chased  in  your  young  days. 
But  it  is  a  common  vanity  of  the  old  to  believe  that  they  have 
always  been  more  discreet  than  those  who  come  after  them.” 

“  When  the  cajolery  of  one  of  )Tour  wooers,”  retorted  Geburon, 
“shall  have  made  you  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  men,  you 
will  then  believe,  Nomerfide,  that  I  have  told  you  the  truth.” 

“Tome  it  seems  probable,”  observed  Oisille,  “that  the  gentle¬ 
man  whose  intrepidity  you  extol  so  highly  must  rather  have  been 

*  The  hero  of  this  novel  is  again  Admiral  de  Bonnivet,  as  we  learn  from 
rantdme. 


Novel  17.]  Second  Day.  115 

possessed  by  the  fury  of  love,  a  passion  so  violent  that  it  makes 
the  greatest  poltroons  undertake  things  which  the  bravest  would 
think  twiceof  before  attempting.” 

“  If  he  had  not  believed,  madam,”  said  Saffredent,  “that  the 
Italians  are  readier  with  their  tongues  than  with  their  hands, 
methinks  he  must  have  been  frightened.” 

“  Yes,”  said  Oisille,  “  if  he  had  not  had  a  fire  in  his  heart 
which  burns  up  fear.” 

“  Since  you  did  not  think  the  courage  of  this  gentleman 
sufficiently  laudable,”  said  Hircan,  u  I  presume  you  know  of 
some  other  instance  which  seems  to  you  more  worthy  of  praise.” 

“  It  is  true  that  this  gentleman’s  courage  deserves  some  praise,” 
said  Oisille,  “  but  I  know  an  instance  of  intrepidity  that  is  worthy 
of  higher  admiration.” 

“Pray  tell  us  it  then,  madam,”  said  Geburon. 

“  If  you  so  much  extol,”  said  Oisille,  “  the  bravery  of  a  man 
who  displayed  it  for  the  defence  of  his  own  life  and  of  his 
mistress's  honour,  what  praise  is  too  great  for  another,  who, 
without  necessity,  and  from  pure  valour,  behaved  in  the  manner 
I  am  about  to  relate  ?  ** 


NOVEL  XVII. 

How  King  Francis  gave  proof  of  his  courage  in  the  case  of  Count 
Guillaume,  who  designed  his  death. 

GERMAN  count  named  Guillaume,  of  the  House  of 
Saxe,  to  which  that  of  Savoy  is  so  closely  allied  that 
anciently  the  two  made  but  one,  came  to  Dijon,  in 
Burgundy,  and  entered  the  service  of  King  Francis. 
This  count,  who  was  considered  one  of  the  finest  men  in  Germany, 
and  also  one  of  the  bravest,  was  so  well  received  by  the  king, 
that  he  not  only  took  him  into  his  service,  but  placed  him  near 
his  person,  as  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  his  chamber.  The  Seig¬ 
neur  de  la  Tremouille,  Governor  of  Burgundy,  an  old  knight  and 
faithful  servant  of  the  king,  being  naturally  suspicious  and  atten¬ 
tive  to  his  master’s  interests,  had  always  a  good  number  of  spies 
among  his  enemies  to  discover  their  intrigues  ;  and  he  conducted 
himself  with  such  wariness  that  little  escaped  his  notice.  One 
day  he  received  a  letter,  informing  him  among  other  things  that 
Count  Guillaume  had  already  received  certain  sums  of  money 
with  promises  of  more,  provided  he  would  have  the  king  put  to 
death  in  any  way  in  which  it  could  be  done.  The  Seigneur  de  la 
Tremouille  instantly  communicated  the  intelligence  to  the  king, 


u6  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

and  made  no  secret  of  it  to  Madame  Louise  of  Savoy,  his  motheiv 
who,  putting  out  of  consideration  that  she  was  related  to  the 
German,  begged  the  king  to  dismiss  him  forthwith.  Instead  ot 
doing  so,  the  king  begged  Madame  Louise  to  say  no  more  about 
it,  declaring  it  impossible  that  so  gallant  a  man  could  be  guilty  of 
so  villainous  an  act. 

Some  time  after,  a  second  despatch  was  received,  confirmatory 
of  the  former  one.  The  governor,  burning  with  zeal  for  the 
preservation  of  his  master’s  life,  begged  permission  of  him  either 
to  expel  the  count  from  the  realm,  or  to  take  precautionary 
measures  against  him  ;  but  the  king  expressly  commanded  him 
to  make  no  stir  in  the  matter,  doubting  not  that  he  should  come 
at  the  truth  by  some  other  means. 

One  day,  the  king  went  to  the  chase,  arme  with  no  other 
weapon  than  a  very  choice  sword,  and  took  Count  Guillaume 
with  him,  desiring  him  to  keep  .close  up  with  him.  After  having 
hunted  the  stag  for  some  time,  the  king,  finding  himself  alone  with 
Count  Guillaume,  and  far  from  his  suite,  turned  aside,  and  rode 
into  the  thick  of  the  forest.  When  they  had  advanced  some  way 
he  drew  his  sword,  and  said  to  the  count,  “  What  think  you  ?  Is 
not  this  an  excellent  sword  ?  ”  The  count,  taking  it  by  the 
point,  replied  that  he  did  not  think  he  had  ever  seen  a  better. 
“  You  are  right,”  rejoined  the  king;  “  and  it  strikes  me  that  it 
a  gentleman  had  conceived  the  design  of  killing  me,  and  knew 
the  strength  of  my  arm,  the  boldness  of  my  heart,  and  the  temper 
of  this  good  sword,  he  would  think  twice  of  it  before  he  attacked 
me  ;  nevertheless,  I  should  regard  him  as  a  great  villain,  if,  being 
alone  with  me,  man  to  man,  he  durst  not  attempt  to  execute  what 
he  had  dared  to 'undertake.” 

“  The  villainy  of  the  design  would  be  very  great,  sire,”  replied 
the  astounded  count;  “but  not  less  would  be  the  folly  of 
attempting  to  put  it  in  execution.” 

The  king  sheathed  his  sword  with  a  laugh,  and,  hearing  the 
sound  of  the  chase,  set  spurs  to  the  horse,  and  galloped  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  sound  came. 

When  he  rejoined  his  suite  he  said  not  a  word  of  what  had 
passed,  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  Count  Guillaume,  for  all  his 
vigour  and  bravery,  was  not  the  man  to  strike  so  daring  a  blow. 
The  count,  however,  making  no  doubt  that  he  was  suspected, 
and  greatly  fearing  a  discovery,  went  the  next  day  to  Robertet, 
the  secretary  of  finance,  and  told  him  that,  on  considering  the 
profits  and  appointments  the  king  had  proposed  to  make  him  for 
remaining  in  his  service,  he  found  they  would  not  be  sufficient  to 


Novel  17.]  Second  Day.  11; 

maintain  him  for  half  the  year ;  and  that,  unless  1. is  majesty 
would  be  pleased  to  double  them,  he  should  3e  under  the  neces¬ 
sity  of  retiring.  He  concluded  by  begging  that  Robertet  would 
ascertain  the  king’s  pleasure  in  the  matter,  and  make  him  ac¬ 
quainted  with  it  as  soon  as  possible.  Robertet  said  he  would 
lose  no  time,  for  he  would  go  that  instant  to  the  king  :  a  com¬ 
mission  which  he  undertook  the  more  readily,  as  he  had  seen  the 
information  obtained  by  La  Tremouille.  As  soon  as  the  king 
was  awake,  Robertet  laid  his  business  before  him,  in  presence  of 
Monsieur  de  la  Tremouille  and  Admiral  de  Bonnivet,  who  were 
not  aware  of  what  the  king  had  done  the  day  before. 

“  You  want  to  dismiss  Count  Guillaume,”  said  the  king,  laugh¬ 
ing,  “and  you  see  he  dismisses  himself.  You  may  tell  him, 
then,  that  if  he  is  not  satisfied  with  the  terms  he  accepted  when 
he  entered  my  service,  and  which  many  a  man  of  good  family 
would  think  himself  fortunate  in  having,  he  may  see  if  he  can 
do  better  elsewhere.  Far  from  wishing  to  hinder  him,  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  have  him  find  as  good  a  position  as  he  deserves.” 

Robertet  was  as  prompt  in  carrying  this  reply  to  the  count  as 
he  had  been  in  laying  the  latter’s  proposals  before  the  king. 
“  That  being  the  case,  I  must  retire  from  his  majesty’s  service,” 
said  the  count.  Fear  made  him  so  eager  to  be  gone,  that 
twenty-four  hours  sufficed  for  the  rest.  He  took  leave  of  his 
majesty  as  he  was  sitting  down  to  table,  and  affected  extreme 
regret  at  the  necessity  which  compelled  him  to  quit  that  gracious 
presence.  He  also  took  leave  of  the  king's  mother,  who  let  him 
go  with  no  less  gladness  than  she  had  welcomed  him  as  a  kins¬ 
man  and  friend.  The  king,  seeing  his  mother  and  his  courtiers 
surprised  at  the  count’s  sudden  departure,  made  known  to  them 
the  alarm  he  had  given  the  count,  adding  that  even  if  he  were 
innocent  of  what  was  laid  to  his  charge,  he  had  a  fright  suffi¬ 
cient  to  make  him  quit  a  master  whose  temper  he  did  not  yet 
know.  * 

I  see  no  reason,  ladies,  which  could  have  obliged  the  king 
thus  to  expose  his  person  against  a  man  who  was  reckoned  so 
formidable  an  adversary,  had  he  not  chosen,  from  mere  greatness 
of  soul,  to  quit  the  company  in  which  kings  find  no  inferiors  to 
offer  them  simple  combat,  in  order  to  put  himself  upon  an  equal 

*  The  fact  related  in  this  novel  must  have  occurred  in  the  forest  of  Argilly* 
in  July,  1521,  when  Francis  I.  was  at  Dijon.  The  German  count  in  question 
was  Wilhelm  von  Furstemberg.  He  is  the  subject  of  the  thirtieth  chapter  ol 
BrantAme’s  CapUai**?*  Strangers 


ii8  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

footing  with  a  man  whom  he  regarded  as  his  enemy,  and  .O 
prove  in  person  his  daring  and  high  courage. 

“  He  was  certainly  right,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “for  the  praises 
of  all  mankind  are  not  so  satisfying  to  a  great  heart  as  its  own 
experience  of  the  virtues  with  which  God  has  endowed  it.” 

“  The  ancients  long  ago  represented,”  said  Geburon,  “  that 
one  cannot  arrive  at  the  temple  of  Fame  without  passing  through 
that  of  Virtue.  As  I  know  the  two  persons  of  whom  you  have 
related  this  tale,  I  know  perfectly  well  that  the  king  is  one  of 
the  most  intrepid  men  in  his  dominions.” 

“When  Count  Guillaume  came  to  France,”  said  Hircan,  “I 
should  have  been  more  afraid  of  his  sword  than  of  those  of  the 
best  four  among  the  Italians  who  were  then  at  court.” 

“We  all  know,”  said  Ennasuite,  “that  all  the  praises  we 
could  bestow  on  the  king  would  fall  far  short  of  his  merits,  and 
that  the  day  would  be  gone  before  everyone  should  have  said  all 
he  thinks  of  him.  Therefore,  madam,  give  your  voice  to  some 
one  who  may  again  tell  us  something  to  the  advantage  of  men,  if 
any  such  thing  there  be.” 

“  I  imagine,”  said  Oisilie  to  Hircan,  “that  as  you  are  so  much 
in  the  habit  of  speaking  ill  of  women,  you  will  not  find  it  difficult 
to  tell  us  something  good  of  your  own  sex.” 

“  That  I  can  the  more  easily  do,”  replied  Hircan,  “as  it  is  not 
long  since  I  was  told  a  tale  of  a  gentleman  whose  love,  forti¬ 
tude,  and  patience  were  so  praiseworthy  that  I  must  not  suffer 
their  memory  to  be  lost.” 


NOVEL  XVIII. 

A  lady  tests  the  fidelity  of  a  young  student,  her  lover,  before 
granting  him  her  favours. 

'N  a  certain  town  in  France  there  lived  a  young  seig¬ 
neur  of  good  family,  who  was  attending  the  schools, 


desiring  to  acquire  the  knowledge  which  endows  those 
of  quality  with  honour  and  virtue.  Though  hi  had 
already  made  such  progress  in  his  studies  that  at  the  age  of 
seventeen  or  eighteen  he  was  a  pattern  for  other  students  Love 
failed  not,  nevertheless,  to  teach  him  other  lessons.  To  make 
them  more  impressive  and  acceptable,  that  sly  instructo  *  con¬ 
cealed  himself  under  the  face  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  handsomest 
lady  in  the  country,  who  had  come  to  town  on  bus  ness  con¬ 
nected  with  a  lawsuit.  Before  Love  employed  the  charms  of 
this  lady  to  subjugate  the  young  seigneur,  he  had  gained  hei 


Novel  1 8.]  Second  Day.  119 

heart  by  letting  her  see  the  perfections  of  the  gentleman,  who  for 
good  looks,  pleasing  manners,  good  sense,  and  a  winning  tongue, 
was  not  surpassed  by  anyone.  You  who  know  what  way  this 
fire  makes  in  a  little  time,  when  once  it  has  begun  to  burn  the 
outworks  of  a  heart,  will  easily  imagine  that  love  was  not  long 
in  rendering  himself  master  of  two  such  accomplished  subjects, 
and  so  filling  them  with  his  light  that  their  thoughts,  wishes,  and 
words  were  but  the  flame  of  that  love.  The  natural  t’mid’ty  of 
youth  made  the  gallant  press  his  suit  with  all  possible  gentleness. 
But  it.  was  not  necessary  to  do  violence  to  the  fair  one,  since 
love  had  already  vanquished  her.  Modesty,  nevertheless,  that 
inseparable  companion  of  the  ladies,  obliged  her  to  conceal  the 
sentiments  of  her  heart  as  long  as  she  could.  But  at  last  the 
citadel  of  the  heart,  wherein  honour  has  its  dwelling,  was  so 
breached  that  the  poor  lady  gave  her  consent  to  what  she  had 
never  been  loth  to.  Still,  in  order  to  put  the  patience,  fortitude, 
and  passion  of  her  lover  to  the  proof,  she  surrendered  only  on 
one  very  difficult  condition  ;  on  his  fulfilling  which,  she  assured 
him  that  she  would  always  love  him  most  truly  ;  but  if  he  failed 
in  it,  she  would  do  quite  the  reverse.  The  condition  she  pro¬ 
posed  was  this  :  she  would  condescend  to  talk  with  him,  both 
being  in  bed  together  en  chemise ,  but  he  was  to  ask  nothing  of 
her  beyond  kisses  and  sweet  words  ;  and  he,  thinking  there  was 
no  joy  comparable  to  that  which  she  offered  him,  accepted  the 
condition  without  hesitation. 

That  night  the  compact  was  fulfilled.  It  was  in  vain  she 
caressed  him  ;  he  would  never  break  his  word,  however  sharply 
he  felt  the  promptings  of  nature.  Though  he  was  fully  assured 
that  the  pains  of  purgatory  were  not  a  whit  worse  than  those 
he  endured,  yet  his  love  was  so  great,  and  his  hopes  so  strong, 
that,  counting  on  the  perpetual  affection  it  cost  him  so  much  to 
secure,  he  triumphed  by  his  patience,  and  got  up  from  beside 
her  just  as  he  laid  down.  The  fair  one,  more  astonished,  I 
rather  think,  than  pleased  at  such  extraordinary  forbearance, 
took  it  into  her  head  either  that  his  love  was  not  so  great  as 
he  said,  or  that  he  had  not  found  in  her  all  the  attractions 
he  had  expected  ;  for  she  made  no  account  at  all  of  the  pro¬ 
priety,  patience,  and  religious  fidelity  of  her  lover.  She  resolved, 
therefore,  before  she  surrendered,  to  put  the  love  he  professed  for 
her  once  more  to  the  proof.  To  this  end  she  requested  him 
to  gallant  a  girl  she  had  in  her  service,  one  who  was  very  good- 
looking,  and  much  younger  than  herself,  in  order  that  person* 
who  saw  him  come  so  often  to  her  house  might  suppose  that  he 


120 


1'he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

came  for  the  sake  of  the  girl,  and  not  of  herself.  The  your 
seigneur,  who  flattered  himself  that  he  had  inspired  as  much 
love  as  he  harboured  in  his  own  bosom,  did  all  that  was  re¬ 
quired  of  him,  and  made  love  to  the  girl  in  obedience  to  her 
mistress’s  desire  ;  and  the  girl,  pleased  with  the  addresses  of  so 
handsome  a  youth,  who  had  such  a  seductive  tongue,  believed  all 
he  said  to  her,  and  was  in  love  with  him  in  earnest. 

The  mistress,  seeing  that  things  had  come  to  this  pass,  and 
that  her  lover  desisted  none  the  more  from  pressing  her  to  fulfll 
her  promise,  admitted  to  him  that,  after  having  put  his  love  to 
such  severe  proofs,  it  was  but  just  that  she  should  recompense 
his  constancy  arid  si  missivt-ness  ;  accordingly,  she  pronn  c<!  10 
meet  him  an  hour  after  midnight.  I  need  not  tell  you  whether 
or  not  the  impassioned  lover  was  transported  with  joy,  and  was 
punctual  to  the  assignation.  But  the  fair  one,  in  order  to  put 
the  force  of  his  passion  to  a  new  trial,  said  to  her  demoiselle, 
“  I  know  the  love  of  Seigneur  Such-a-one  for  you,  and  I  know 
that  you  are  no  less  in  love  with  him.  I  take  such  an  interest 
in  your  happiness  that  I  have  resolved  to  contrive  means  for  you 
both  to  enjoy  a  long  conversation  together  in  private  and  at  your 
ease.”  The  demoiselle  was  in  such  ecstasy  that  she  could  not 
dissemble  her  passion,  and,  in  obedience  to  her  mistress’s  direc¬ 
tions,  lay  down  alone  on  a  handsome  bed.  The  mistress  then, 
leaving  large  candles  lighted,  the  better  to  display  the  girl’s 
beauty,  and  the  door  open,  pretended  to  go  away,  but  contrived 
to  hide  herself  near  the  bed  so  cunningly  that  she  could  not  be 
discovered.  The  lover,  expecting  to  find  her  as  she  had  pro¬ 
mised,  stole  softly  into  the  room  at  the  appointed  hour,  shut  the 
door,  undressed,  and  got  into  bed.  No  sooner  had  he  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  embrace  his  mistress,  as  he  supposed,  than  the 
poor  girl,  who  believed  him  to  be  all  her  own,  threvt  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  spoke  to  him  with  such  affection,  and  with 
such  a  charming  countenance,  that  there  is  not  a  holy  hermit  in 
the  world  but  would  have  forgotten  his  paternosters  for  her  sake. 
But  when  he  recognized  her  form  and  her  face,  the  love  that  had 
ninde  him  get  so  quickly  into  bed  made  him  jump  out  of  it  still 
more  hastily,  on  finding  that  his  bedfellow  was  not  she  who  had 
made  him  sigh  so  long.  Vexed  then  alike  with  the  mistress  and 
the  maid,  “Your  folly,”  he  said,  “and  the  malice  of  her  who 
put  you  there,  cannot  make  me  other  than  1  am.  Try  to  be  an 
honest  woman  ;  for  you  shall  not  lose  your  good  name  through 
me.”  So  saying,  he  flung  himself  out  of  the  room  in  huge  dudgeon, 
<md  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  again  visited  his  mistress. 


V. 


N&vel  1 8.]  Second  Day .  121 

Love,  however,  who  is  never  without  hope,  suggested  tc  him 
that  the  greater  his  constancy,  and  the  more  it  was  made  known 
by  such  decisive  experiments,  the  longer  and  more  blissful  would 
be  his  enjoyment.  The  lady,  who  had  witnessed  all,  was  so 
delighted  and  so  surprised  at  the  excess  and  firmness  of  his  love, 
that  she  was  impatient  to  see  him  again,  in  order  to  make 
amends  for  the  sufferings  she  had  inflicted  upon  him  in  testing 
his  affection.  The  moment  she  saw  him  she  spoke  to  him  so 
graciously,  and  with  such  tenderness,  that  he  not  only  forgot  all 
he  had  undergone,  but  even  rejoiced  at  it,  seeing  that  his  mis¬ 
tress  honoured  his  constancy,  and  was  convinced  of  the  sincerity 
of  his  love.  He  had  no  more  disappointments  to  complain  of  > 
his  services  and  his  love  were  crowned,  and  he  obtained  from 
the  fair  one  thenceforth  all  his  heart  could  wish  for. 

Show  me,  ladies,  if  you  can,  a  woman  who  has  evinced  the 
same  firmness,  patience,  and  fidelity  in  love  as  this  gentleman. 
Those  who  have  been  exposed  to  the  like  temptations  think 
those  which  painters  assign  to  St.  Anthony  very  trivial  in  com¬ 
parison.  For  he  who  can  be  chaste  and  patient  in  spite  of  the 
temptations  of  beauty,  love,  opportunity,  and  the  absence  of  all 
hindrance,  may  rely  on  having  virtue  enough  to  overcome  all  the 
devils  in  hell. 

“It  is  a  pity,”  said  Oisille,  “that  the  gentleman  did  not 
address  his  love  to  a  lady  as  virtuous  as  himself  ;  it  would  then 
have  been  the  most  decorous  and  perfect  I  ever  heard  of.” 

“Tell  me,”  said  Geburon,  “which  of  this  gentleman’s  two 
trials  do  you  think  was  the  more  difficult  ?  ” 

“The  last,  I  think,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “for  resentment  and 
anger  are  the  most  terrible  of  all  temptations.” 

Longarine  said  she  thought  that  the  first  was  the  most 
arduous  of  the  two  ;  for  in  order  to  keep  his  promise,  he  had 
to  be  victorious  over  love  and  over  himself. 

“  You  talk  at  random,”  said  Simontault  ;  “but  we,  who  know 
something  about  the  matter,  may  be  allowed  to  say  what  we 
think  of  it.  For  my  part,  I  say  that  he  was  a  fool  the  first 
time,  and  a  blockhead  the  second.  It  is  my  belief  that,  in  keep¬ 
ing  his  word  to  his  mistress,  he  made  her  suffer  as  much  as 
himself,  or  more.  She  only  exacted  that  promise  from  him  to 
make  herself  appear  a  better  conducted  woman  than  she  really 
was  ;  for  she  could  not  but  know  that  there  is  no  command, 
or  oath,  or  anything  else  in  the  world,  which  is  capable  of  stop¬ 
ping  the  headlong  impulses  of  a  violent  love.  She  was  very 


122  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

glad  to  cover  her  vice  under  an  appearance  of  virtue,  and  make 
believe  that  she  was  accessible  for  nothing  beneath  a  heroic 
virtue.  He  was  a  blockhead  the  second  time  to  leave  her  who 
loved  him,  and  was  worth  more  than  the  other,  especially  when 
he  had  so  good  an  excuse  as  the  provocation  he  had  received.” 

“  I  say  quite  the  contrary,”  interrupted  Dagoucin.  “  The 
first  time  he  showed  himself  firm,  patient,  and  a  man  of 
his  word  ;  and  the  second  time,  faithful,  and  loving  to  per¬ 
fection.” 

“And  who  knows,”  said  Saffredent,  “  but  he  was  one  of  those 
whom  a  chapter  names  de  frigidis  et  maleficiatis  f  *  But  that 
nothing  might  be  wanting  to  the  glory  of  this  hero,  Hircan 
ought  to  have  acquainted  us  if  he  did  his  duty  when  he  got 
what  he  wanted.  We  should  then  have  been  able  to  judge 
whether  he  was  so  chaste  through  virtue  or  through  impotence.” 

“  You  may  be  sure,”  said  Hircan,  “  that  if  I  had  been  told 
this,  I  should  not  have  concealed  it  any  more  than  the  rest.  But 
knowing  as  I  do  the  man  and  his  temperament,  I  attribute  his 
conduct  to  the  force  of  his  love,  and  not  at  all  to  impotence  or 
coldness.” 

“  If  that  is  the  case,’*  said  Saffredent,  “  he  ought  to  have 
laughed  at  his  promise.  Had  the  fair  one  been  offended  at  his 
doing  so,  it  would  not  have  been  very  hard  to  appease  her.” 

“  But,  perhaps,”  said  Ennasuite,  “she  would  not  then  have 
consented.” 

“  That’s  a  fine  idea  !  ”  cried  Saffredent.  “  Was  he  not  strong 
enough  to  force  her,  since  she  had  given  him  the  opportunity  ?  ” 

“  Holy  Mary  !  ”  exclaimed  Nomerfide,  “  how  you  talk  ! 
Is  that  the  way  to  win  the  good  graces  of  a  lady  who  is  believed 
to  be  chaste  and  modest  ?  ” 

“  It  seems  to  me,”  replied  Saffredent,  “that  one  cannot  do 
more  honour  to  a  woman  of  whom  one  desires  to  have  that 
sort  of  thing  than  to  take  it  by  force,  for  there  is  not  the  pettiest 
demoiselle  of  them  all  but  dearly  loves  to  be  long  wooed  and 
entreated.  There  are  some  who  can  only  be  won  by  dint  of 
presents  ;  others  are  so  stupid  that  they  are  hardly  pregnable  on 
any  side.  With  these  latter,  one  must  think  of  nothing  but  how 
to  hit  upon  the  means  of  having  them.  But  when  one  has  to  do 
with  a  dame  so  wary  that  one  cannot  deceive  her,  and  so  good 

*  This  is  an  allusion  to  the  penalties  pronounced  by  several  councils,  and 
repeated  in  the  Capitularies  and  the  Decretals  of  Pope  Boniface  VII[.,  against 
those  who  were  supposed  guilty  of  having  by  magical  practices  deprived  a 
bridegroom  of  the  £  ower  of  consummating  his  nuptials. 


Novel  19.]  Second  Day.  123 

that  she  is  not  to  be  come  at  either  by  presents  or  by  fair  words, 
is  it  not  allowable  to  try  all  possible  means  of  success  ?  When 
ever  you  hear  that  a  man  has  forced  a  woman,  you  may  be  sure 
that  she  had  left  him  no  other  means  to  accomplish  his  ends  ;  and 
you  ought  not  to  think  the  worse  of  a  man  who  has  risked  his 
life  to  satisfy  his  love.” 

“  I  have  seen  in  my  time,”  said  Geburon,  laughing,  “  places 
besieged  and  taken  by  storm,  because  there  was  no  means  of 
bringing  the  governors  to  terms  either  by  money  or  threats  ;  for 
they  say  that  a  fortress  which  treats  is  half  taken.” 

“One  would  think,”  said  Ennasuite,  “that  love  is  built  only 
upon  these  follies.  There  have  been  many  who  have  loved 
constantly  with  other  intentions.” 

“  If  you  know  one  such  instance,”  said  Hircan,  “tell  it  us.” 

“  I  know  one,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  which  I  will  willingly  relate.” 


NOVEL  XIX. 

Two  lovers,  in  despair  at  being  hindered  from  marrying,  turn  monk  and  nun. 

N  the  time  of  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  who  had  married 
the  sister  of  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  there  was  in  the 
service  of  the  duchess  a  demoiselle  named  Pauline,  so 
much  loved  by  a  gentleman  who  was  in  the  service  of 
the  marquis  that  everyone  was  surprised  at  the  excess  of  his 
passion  ;  for  being  poor,  but  a  handsome  man,  and,  moreover, 
in  great  favour  with  the  marquis,  it  was  thought  that  he  ought 
to  attach  himself  to  a  lady  who  had  wealth  enough  for  them 
both  :  but  he  regarded  Pauline  as  the  greatest  of  all  treasures, 
which  he  hoped  to  make  his  own  by  marriage.  The  marchioness, 
who  loved  Pauline,  and  wished  that  she  should  make  a  wealthier 
match,  dissuaded  her  from  this  one  as  much  as  she  could,  and 
often  hindered  the  lovers  from  seeing  each  other,  telling  them 
that  if  they  married  they  would  be  the  poorest  and  most  miser¬ 
able  couple  in  Italy.  But  the  gentleman  could  not  admit  the 
validity  of  this  argument.  Pauline,  on  her  part,  dissembled  her 
love  as  much  as  she  could  ;  but  she  only  thought  of  it  the 
more  for  all  that.  Their  courtship  was  long,  and  they  hoped 
their  fortune  would  mend  in  time. 

While  they  were  awaiting  this  happy  change,  war  broke  out, 
and  the  gentleman  was  made  prisoner,  along  with  a  Frenchman 
who  was  as  much  in  love  in  his  own  country  as  the  other  was 
»n  lialy.  Being  fellcws  in  misfortune,  they  began  reciprocally  to 


1 24  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre 

communicate  their  secrets.  The  Frenchman  told  his  companion 
that  his  heart  was  captive,  without  saying  to  whom  ;  but  as  they 
were  both  in  the  service  of  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  the  French¬ 
man  knew  that  his  comrade  loved  Pauline,  and,  having  his 
interest  at  heart,  advised  him  to  abandon  that  connection.  This 
the  Italian  vowed  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  do,  and  added 
that,  unless  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  in  recompense  for  his  im¬ 
prisonment  and  his  good  services,  bestowed  his  mistress  upon 
him- at  his  return,  he  would  turn  Cordelier,  and  never  serve  any 
other  master  than  God.  The  Frenchman,  who  saw  in  him  no 
signs  of  religion,  with  the  exception  of  his  devotion  to  Pauline, 
could  not  believe  that  he  spoke  in  earnest.  At  the  end  of  nine 
months  the  Frenchman  was  set  at  liberty,  and  exerted  himself  to 
such  effect  that  he  procured  that  of  his  comrade  also,  who 
immediately  on  his  liberation  renewed  his  importunities  to  the 
marquis  and  the  marchioness  for  their  sanction  to  his  marriage 
with  Pauline.  It  was  in  vain  they  represented  to  him  the 
poverty  to  which  they  would  both  be  reduced  ;  the  relations  on 
both  sides,  who  would  not  consent  to  the  match,  forbade  him  to 
speak  any  more  to  Pauline,  in  hopes  that  absence  and  impossi¬ 
bility  would  cure  him  of  his  headstrong  passion  :  but  all  this 
was  unavailing  to  change  his  feelings.  Seeing  himself  forced  to 
submit,  he  asked  leave  of  the  marquis  and  marchioness  to  bid 
farewell  to  Pauline,  after  which  he  would  see  her  no  more,  and 
his  request  was  forthwith  granted. 

“  Since  heaven  and  earth  are  against  us,”  said  he  to  Pauline 
when  they  met,  “  and  we  are  not  only  forbidden  to  marry,  but 
even  to  see  each  other,  the  marquis  and  marchioness,  our  master 
and  mistress,  who  exact  such  a  cruel  kind  of  obedience  of  us, 
may  boast  of  having  with  one  word  smitten  two  hearts,  whose 
bodies  can  henceforth  only  languish  to  death.  By  so  unfeeling 
a  mandate  they  plainly  show  that  they  have  never  known  love  or 
pity.  I  know  well  that  their  purpose  is  to  see  us  both  prosper¬ 
ously  established  in  wealthy  marriages  ;  but  they  know  not  that 
people  are  truly  rich  only  when  they  are  content.  However,  they 
have  so  wronged  and  incensed  me  that  it  is  impossible  I  should 
remain  in  their  service.  I  have  no  doubt  that  if  I  had  never 
talked  of  marrying  you.  they  would  not  have  carried  their 
scruples  so  far  as  to  forbid  our  speaking  to  each  other  ;  but  as 
for  me,  I  can  assure  you  that,  having  long  loved  you  so  honestly 
and  truly,  I  shall  continue  to  love  you  all  my  life.  And  foras¬ 
much  as  seeing  you  I  could  not  endure  the  monstrous  hardship 
of  not  being  allowed  to  speak  to  you,  and  not  seeing  you,  my 


V 


Novel  19.]  Second  Day.  125 

heart,  which  could  not  remain  void,  would  be  filled  with  a 
despair  which  might  end  fatally  for  me,  I  have  for  a  long  time 
resolved  to  retreat  into  the  cloister.  Not  but  that  I  well  know 
one  may  work  out  his  salvation  in  any  condition  of  life  ;  but  I 
believe  that  in  these  retreats  one  has  more  leisure  to  meditate  on 
the  greatness  of  the  Divine  goodness,  which  will  have  pity,  I 
trust,  on  the  faults  of  my  youth,  and  dispose  my  heart  to  love  the 
things  of  heaven  as  much  as  I  have  loved  those  of  earth.  If 
God  gives  me  the  grace  to  be  able  to  obtain  his,  my  continual 
occupation  will  be  to  pray  for  you.  I  entreat  you,  by  the  faithful 
and  constant  love  we  have  borne  to  one  another,  to  remember 
me  in  your  prayers,  and  to  beseech  the  Lord  to  give  me  as  much 
constancy,  when  I  cease  to  see  you,  as  He  gave  me  gladness  in 
beholding  you.  As  I  have  hoped  all  my  life  to  have  from  you 
through  marriage  what  honour  and  conscience  allow,  and  have 
contented  myself  with  that  hope,  now  that-  I  lose  it,  and  can 
never  be  treated  by  you  as  a  husband,  I  entreat  that,  in  bidding 
me  farewell,  you  will  treat  me  as  a  brother,  and  let  me  kiss 
you.” 

Poor  Pauline,  who  had  manifested  rigour  enough  towards  him, 
seeing  the  extremity  of  his  grief  and  the  reasonableness  of  his 
request,  which  was  so  moderate  under  such  circumstances,  could 
only  reply  by  throwing  herself  in  tears  on  his  neck.  So  overcome 
was  she  that  speech,  sense,  and  motion  failed  her,  and  she 
fainted  in  his  arms,  whilst  love,  sorrow,  and  pity  produced  the 
same  effect  on  him.  One  of  Pauline’s  companions,  who  saw 
them  fa/1,  called  for  help,  and  they  were  recovered  by  force  of 
remedies.  Pauline,  who  wished  to  hide  her  affection,  was 
ashamed  when  she  was  aware  how  vehemently  she  had  suffered  it 
to  display  itself ,*  however,  she  found  a  good  excuse  in  the 
commiseration  she  had  felt  for  the  gentleman.  That  heart¬ 
broken  lover,  unable  to  utter  the  words,  “  Farewell  for  ever  !  ” 
hurried  away  to  his  chamber,  fell  like  a  corpse  on  his  bed,  and 
passed  the  night  in  such  bitter  lamentations  that  his  servant  sup¬ 
posed  he  had  lost  all  his  relations  and  friends,  and  all  he  was 
worth  in  the  world.  Next  morning  he  commended  himself  to 
our  Lord,  and  after  dividing  the  little  he  possessed  among  his 
domestics,  only  retaining  a  very  small  sum  of  money  for  his 
immediate  use,  he  forbade  his  servants  to  follow  him,  and  wended 
his  way  alone  to  the  convent  of  the  Observance,  to  ask  for  the 
monastic  habit,  with  the  determination  of  wearing  none  other 
as  long  as  he  lived.  The  warden,  who  had  known  him  formerly, 
thaught  at  first  that  he  was  joking,  or  that  he  himself  was  dream- 


126  7 he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

ing ;  indeed,  there  was  not  a  man  in  all  the  country  who  hail  less 
the  look  of  a  Cordelier,  or  was  better  gifted  with  the  graces  and 
endowments  which  one  could  desire  to  see  in  a  gentleman.  But 
after  having  heard  him,  and  seen  him  shed  floods  of  tears,  the 
source  of  which  was  unknown  to  him,  the  warden  kindly  received 
him  as  a  guest,  and  soon  afterwards,  seeing  his  perseverance,  he 
gave  him  the  robe  of  the  order,  which  the  poor  gentleman  re¬ 
ceived  with  great  devotion. 

The  marquis  and  marchioness  were  made  acquainted  with  this 
event,  and  were  so  much  surprised  at  it  that  they  could  hardly 
believe  it.  Pauline,  to  show  that  she  was  without  passion,  did  her 
best  to  dissemble  her  regret  for  her  lover,  and  succeeded  so  well 
that  everybody  said  she  had  forgotten  him,  whilst  all  the  time  she 
would  fain  have  fled  to  some  hermitage,  to  shun  all  commerce 
with  the  world.  But  one  day,  when  she  went  to  hear  mass  at  the 
Observance  with  her  mistress,  when  the  priest,  the  deacon,  and 
the  sub-deacon  issued  from  the  vestry  to  go  to  the  high  altar,  her 
lover,  who  had  not  yet  completed  the  year  of  his  noviciate,  served 
as  acolyte,  and  led  the  procession,  carrying  in  both  hands  the  two 
cajiettes  covered  with  silk-cloth,  and  walking  with  downcast  eyes. 
Pauline,  seeing  him  in  that  garb,  which  augmented  rather  than 
diminished  his  good  looks,  was  so  surprised  and  confused  that,  to 
conceal  the  real  cause  of  her  heightened  colour,  she  began  to 
cough.  At  that  sound,  which  he  recognized  better  than  the  bells 
of  his  monastery,  the  poor  lover  durst  not  turn  his  head  ;  but  as 
he  passed  before  her,  he  could  not  hinder  his  eyes  from  taking 
the  direction  to  which  they  had  been  so  long  used.  Whilst 
gazing  sadly  on  his  mistress,  the  fire  he  had  thought  almost  ex¬ 
tinct  blazed  up  so  fiercely  within  him  that,  making  an  effort  beyond 
his  strength  to  conceal  it,  he  fell  full  length  on  the  floor.  His 
fear  lest  the  cause  of  this  accident  should  be  known  prompted  him 
to  say  that  the  floor  of  the  church,  which  was  broken  at  that  spot, 
had  thrown  him  down.  Pauline  perceived  from  this  circumstance 
that  he  had  not  changed  his  heart  along  with  his  habit  ;  and 
believing  that,  as  it  was  now  so  long  since  he  had  retired  from 
the  world,  everyone  imagined  she  had  forgotten  him,  she  resolved 
to  put  into  execution  her  long-meditated  design  of  following  her 
lover’s  example. 

Having  now  been  more  than  fourteen  months  privily  making 
all  necessary  arrangements  previous  to  her  taking  the  veil,  she  one 
morning  asked  leave  of  the  marchioness  to  go  to  hear  mass  at  the 
convent  of  St.  Claire.  Her  mistress  granted  this  request  without 
knowing  why  it  was  preferred.  Calling  at  the  Franciscan  mo- 


Novel  19.]  Second  Day.  12; 

nastery  on  her  way,  Pauline  begged  the  warder,  to  let  her  see  her 
lover,  whom  sne  called  her  relation.  She  saw  him  in  private,  in 
a  chapel,  and  said  to  him,  “  If  I  could  with  honour  have  retired 
to  the  cloister  as  soon  as  you,  I  should  have  been  there  long  ago, 
But  now  that  by  my  patience  I  have  prevented  the  remarks  of 
those  who  put  a  bad  construction  upon  everything  rather  than  a 
good  one,  I  am  resolved  to  renounce  the  world,  and  adopt  the  order, 
habit,  and  life  which  you  have  chosen.  If  you  fare  well,  I  shall 
have  my  part  ;  and  if  you  fare  ill,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  exempt. 
I  desire  to  go  to  Paradise  by  the  same  road  as  you,  being  assured 
that  the  Being  who  is  supremely  perfect,  and  alone  worthy  to  be 
called  Love,  has  drawn  us  to  his  service  by  means  of  an  innocent 
and  reasonable  affection,  which  He  will  convert  entirely  to  himself 
through  His  Holy  Spirit.  Let  us  both  forget  this  perishing  body, 
which  is  of  the  old  Adam,  to  receive  and  put  on  that  of  Jesus 
Christ,  who  is  our  spirit.” 

The  cowled  lover  wept  with  joy  to  hear  her  express  such  a 
holy  desire,  and  did  his  utmost  to  confirm  it.  “  Since  I  can  nevctr 
hope  for  more  than  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  you,”  he  said,  “  I 
esteem  it  a  great  blessing  that  I  am  in  a  place  where  I  may  always 
have  opportunity  to  see  you.  Our  conversations  will  be  such 
that  we  shall  both  be  the  better  for  them,  loving  as  we  shall  do 
with  one  love,  one  heart,  one  mind,  led  by  the  goodness  of  God, 
whom  I  pray  to  hold  us  in  His  good  hands,  in  which  no  one 
perishes.”  So  saying,  and  weeping  with  love  and  joy,  he  kissed 
her  hands  ;  but  she  stooped  her  face  as  low  as  her  hand,  and  they 
exchanged  the  kiss  of  love  in  true  charity. 

From  the  Franciscan  monastery,  Pauline  went  straight  to  the 
convent  of  St.  Claire,  where  she  was  received  and  veiled.  Once 
there,  she  sent  word  to  her  mistress,  who,  hardly  crediting  such 
strange  news,  went  to  see  her  next  day,  and  did  all  she  could  to 
dissuade  her  from  her  purpose.  The  only  reply  she  received  from 
Pauline  was  that  she  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  having  deprived 
her  of  a  husband  of  flesh,  the  only  man  in  the  world  she  had  ever 
loved,  without  seeking  likewise  to  separate  her  from  Him  \r  ho  is 
immortal  and  invisible,  which  neither  she  nor  all  the  creatures  on 
earth  could  do.  The  marchioness,  seeing  her  so  strong  in  her 
pious  resolution^  kissed  her,  and  left  her  in  her  convent  with 
extreme  regret. 

These  two  persons  lived  afterwards  such  holy  and  devout  lives 
that  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  He  whose  law  is  charity  said  to 
them  at  the  end  of  their  course,  as  to  Mary  Magdalen,  “  Your 
sins  are  forgiven,  since  you  have  loved  so  much,”  and  removec1 


The  Heptameron  oj  me  Queen  of  Navarre. 

them  in  peace  to  the  blessed  abode  where  the  recompense  in* 
finitely  surpasses  all  human  merits. 

You  cannot  but  own,  ladies,  that  the  man’s  love  was  the  greatei 
of  the  two  ;  but  it  was  so  well  repaid  that  I  would  all  those  who 
love  were  so  richly  recompensed. 

“  In  that  case,  there  would  be  more  fools  than  ever,”  said 
Hircan. 

“  Do  you  call  it  folly,”  said  Oisille,  “  to  love  virtuously  in 
youth,  and  then  to  centre  all  our  love  in  God  ?  ” 

“If  despite  and  despair  are  laudable,”  replied  Hircan,  laughing, 
“  then  I  must  say  that  Pauline  and  her  lover  are  worthy  of  high 
praise.” 

“Yet  God  has  many  ways  of  attracting  us  to  Him,”  said 
Geburon  ;  “and  though  their  beginnings  seem  bad,  their  end  is, 
nevertheless,  very  good.” 

“  I  believe.”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  no  one  ever  perfectly  loved 
God  who  did  not  perfectly  love  some  of  his  creatures  in  this 
»  world.” 

“What  do  you  call  loving  perfectly  ?”  said  SafTredent.  “Do 
you  believe  that  those  enamoured  cataleptics  who  worship  ladies 
at  a  hundred  paces’  distance,  without  daring  to  speak  out,  love 
perfectly  ?  ” 

“  I  call  perfect  lovers,”  replied  Parlamente,  “  those  who  seek 
in  what  they  love  some  perfection,  be  it  goodness,  beauty,  or 
charming  demeanour  ;  who  aim  always  at  virtue,  and  whose 
hearts  are  so  noble  and  so  spotless  that  they  would  rather  lose 
their  lives  than  devote  them  to  low  things  forbidden  by  honour 
and  conscience  ;  for  the  soul  which  is  created  only  to  return  to 
its  sovereign  good,  so  long  as  it  is  imprisoned  in  the  body,  does 
but  long  to  arrive  at  that  high  destination.  But  because  the 
senses,  which  can  give  it  views  thereof,  are  obscured  and  carnal 
since  the  sin  of  our  first  parents,  they  can  only  present  to  it  those 
visible  objects  which  approach  nearest  to  perfection.  In  that 
direction  the  soul  rushes  forth,  and  thinks  to  find  in  outward 
beauty,  in  visible  graces,  and  in  moral  virtues,  the  supreme 
beauty,  grace,  and  virtue.  But  after  having  sought  and  proved 
them,  and  not  found  what  it  loves,  the  soul  lets  them  go,  and 
passes  on  its  way,  like  the  child  who  loves  apples,  pears,  dolls, 
and  other  trivial  things,  the  handsomest  it  can  see,  and  thinks 
that  to  amass  little  pebbles  is  to  be  wealthy  ;  but  as  it  grows 
ap  it  loves  living  dells,  and  amasses  things  necessary  to  human 
Ufe.  After  a  longer  experience  has  shown  it  that  there  is  neither 


I 


Novel  19.]  Second  Day .  129 

perfection  nor  felicity  in  the  things  of  this  earth,  it  seeks#the 
true  felicity,  and  Him  who  is  its  source  and  principle.  Still, 
if  God  did  not  open  the  eyes  of  its  faith,  it  would  be  in  danger 
of  passing  from  ignorance  to  infidel  philosophy  ;  for  it  is  faith 
alone  that  demonstrates  and  makes  the  soul  receive  that  good 
which  the  carnal  and  animal  man  cannot  know.” 

“  Do  you  not  see,”  said  Longarine,  "  that  even  the  uncultivated 
ground,  which  produces  only  trees  and  useless  herbs,  is,  never- 
theless,  an  object  of  desire,  in  the  hope  that  when  it  is  well 
cultivated  and  sown  it  will  produce  good  grain  ?  In  like  manner, 
the  heart  of  man,  which  is  conscious  only  of  visible  things,  will 
never  arrive  at  the  condition  of  loving  God  but  through  the  seed 
of  the  Word  ;  for  that  heart  is  a  sterile,  cold,  and  corrupted  soil.” 

“  Thence  it  comes,”  said  Saffredent,  “  that  most  doctors  are 
not  spiritual,  because  they  never  love  anything  but  good  wine 
and  ugly  sluts  of  chambermaids,  without  making  trial  of  what 
it  is  to  love  honourable  ladies.” 

“  If  I  could  speak  Latin  well,”  said  Simontault,  “  I  would 
quote  St.  John  to  you,  who  says,  ‘  He  who  loves  not  his  brother 
whom  he  sees,  how  shall  he  love  God  whom  he  doth  not  see  ?’ 
In  loving  visible  things,  one  comes  to  love  things  invisible.” 

“  Tell  us  where  is  the  man  so  perfect  as  you  describe,  ti 
laudabimus  eum,"  said  Ennasuite. 

“There  are  such  men,”  replied  Dagoucin  •  “  men  who  love  so 
strongly  and  so  perfectly  that  they  would  rather  die  than  enter¬ 
tain  desires  contrary  to  the  honour  and  conscience  of  their 
mistresses,  and  who  yet  would  not  have  either  them  or  others  be 
aware  of  their  sentiments.” 

“  These  men  are  like  the  chameleon,  who  lives  on  air,”  ob¬ 
served  Saffredent.  “  There  is  no  man  in  the  world  but  is  very 
glad  to  have  it  known  that  he  loves,  and  delighted  to  know  that 
he  is  loved.  Also,  I  am  convinced,  that  there  is  no  fever  of 
affection  so  strong  but  passes  off  as  soon  as  one  knows  the  con¬ 
trary.  For  my  part,  I  have  seen  palpable  miracles  in  that  way.” 

«•  I  beg,  then,”  said  Ennasuite,  “that  you  will  take  my  place, 
and  tell  us  a  story  of  someone  who  has  been  restored  from  death 
to  life  by  having  discovered  in  his  mistress  the  reverse  of  what 
he  desired.” 

“  I  am  so  much  afraid,”  said  Saffredent,  “  of  displeasing  the 
ladies,  whose  most  humble  servant  I  have  always  been,  and 
always  shall  be,  that  without  an  express  command  I  should  not 
have  dared  to  speak  of  their  imperfections.  But,  in  token  of 
obedience,  I  will  speak  the  truth 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 
NOVEL  XX. 


13° 


A  gentleman  finds  his  mistress  in  the  arms  of  her  groom,  and  is  cured  at  once 

of  his  love. 

one  time  there  lived  in  Dauphind  a  gentleman  named 
the  Seigneur  De  Riant,  of  the  household  of  King 
Francis  I.,  and  one  of  the  best-looking  and  best-bred 
men  of  his  day.  He  paid  his  court  for  a  long  time  to 
a  widow,  whom  he  loved  and  respected  so  much  that,  for  fear  of 
losing  her  good  graces,  he  durst  not  ask  of  her  that  which  he 
longed  for  with  the  utmost  passion.  As  he  was  conscious  of 
being  a  handsome  man  and  well  worthy  of  being  loved,  he  firmly 
believed  what  she  often  swore  to  him — namely,  that  she  loved 
him  above  all  men  in  the  world  ;  and  that  if  she  were  con¬ 
strained  to  do  anything  for  anyone,  it  would  be  for  him  alone, 
who  was  the  most  accomplished  gentleman  she  had  ever  known. 
She  begged  he  would  content  himself  with  this,  and  not  attempt 
to  exceed  the  limits  of  decorous  friendship,  assuring  him  that, 
upon  the  least  symptom  of  his  craving  anything  more,  she  should 
be  lost  to  him  for  ever. 

The  poor  gentleman  not  only  contented  himself  with  these  fine 
words,  but  even  deemed  himself  happy  in  having  won  the  heart 
of  a  person  he  believed  to  be  so  virtuous.  It  would  be  an  end¬ 
less  affair  to  give  you  a  circumstantial  detail  of  his  love,  of  the 
long  intercourse  he  had  with  her,  and  of  the  journeys  he  made 
to  see  her.  Enough  to  say  that  this  poor  martyr  to  a  fire  so 
pleasing  that  the  more  one  is  burned  by  it  the  more  one  likes 
to  be  burned,  daily  sought  the  means  of  aggravating  his 
martyrdom.  One  day  he  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  travel  post 
to  see  her  whom  he  loved  better  than  himself,  and  whom  he 
prized  above  all  the  women  in  the  world.  On  arriving  at  her 
house  he  asked  where  she  was.  They  told  him  she  had  just 
come  back  from  vespers,  and  was  gone  to  take  a  turn  in  the 
warren  to  finish  her  devotions.  He  dismounts,  goes  straight  to 
the  warren,  and  meets  her  woman,  who  tells  him  that  she  is  gone 
to  walk  alone  in  the  great  alley.  Upon  this  he  began  to  hope 
more  than  ever  for  some  good  fortune,  and  continued  to  search 
for  her  as  softly  as  possible,  desiring  above  all  things  to  steal 
upon  her  when  she  was  alone.  But  on  coming  to  a  charming 
pleached  arbour,  in  his  impatience  to  behold  his  adored,  he 
darted  into  it  abruptly,  and  what  did  he  see  then  but  the  lady 
stretched  on  the  grass,  in  the  arms  of  a  groom,  as  ugly,  nasty, 
and  disreputable  as  De  Riant  was  all  the  reverse.  I  will  not 


V 


Novel  20.]  Second  Day.  131 

pretend  to  describe  his  indignation  at  so  unexpected  a  spectacle ; 
I  will  only  say  it  was  so  great  that  in  an  instant  it  extinguished 
his  long- cherished  flame.  “  Much  good  may  it  do  you,  madam,” 
said  he,  as  full  of  resentment  as  he  had  been  of  love.  “  I  am 
now  cured  and  delivered  of  the  continual  anguish  which  your 
fancied  virtue  had  caused  me  ;**  and  without  another  word,  he 
turned  on  his  heel  and  went  back  faster  than  he  had  come. 
The  poor  woman  had  not  a  word  to  say  for  herself,  and  couid 
only  put  her  hands  over  her  face,  that  as  she  could  not  cover  her 
shame  she  might  at  least  cover  her  eyes,  and  not  see  him  who 
saw  her  but  too  plainly,  notwithstanding  her  long  dissimulation. 

So,  ladies,  unless  you  choose  to  love  perfectly,  never  think 
of  dissembling  with  a  proper  man,  and  giving  him  displeasure 
for  sake  of  your  own  glory  ;  for  hypocrisy  is  paid  as  it  deserves, 
and  God  favours  those  who  love  frankly.  * 

“  It  must  be  confessed,”  said  Oisille,  “  that  you  have  kept 
something  good  in  reserve  for  us  to  the  end  of  the  day.  If  we 
were  not  pledged  to  tell  the  truth,  I  could  not  believe  that  a 
woman  of  such  station  could  have  forgotten  herself  so  much  as 
to  quit  so  handsome  a  gentleman  for  a  nasty  groom.” 

“If  you  knew,  madam,”  replied  Hircan,  ‘‘the  difference  there 
is  between  a  gentleman  who  has  all  his  life  worn  harness  and 
followed  the  army,  and  a  servant  who  has  led  a  sedentary  life 
and  been  well  fed,  you  would  excuse  this  poor  widow.” 

“  Say  what  you  will,”  rejoined  Oisille,  “  I  doubt  that  you 
would  admit  any  excuse  for  her.” 

“I  have  heard,”  said  Simontault,  “that  there  are  women  who 
are  very  glad  to  have  apostles  to  preach  up  their  virtue  and  their 
chastity  ;  they  treat  them  with  the  most  gracious  kindness  and 
familiarity,  and  assure  them  they  would  grant  them  what  they 
sue  for,  did  conscience  and  honour  permit  it.  When  the  poor 
dupes  are  in  company  they  talk  of  these  excellent  ladies,  and 
swear  they  would  put  their  hands  in  the  fire  if  they  are  not 
women  of  virtue,  relying  on  the  proof  they  think  they  have 
personally  obtained  for  their  assertion.  But  the  ladies  thus 
praised  by  these  simple  gentlemen  show  themselves  in  their  real 
colours  to  those  who  are  like  themselves,  and  choose  for  the 

*  This  is  a  very  old  story,  though  told  by  the  Queen  of  Navarre,  with  name 
and  date,  as  one  of  her  own  time.  It  occurs  in  the  introduction  to  the  Arabian 
Nights,  in  the  eighteenth  canto  of  the  Orlando  Furioso,  and  in  the  novels  of 
Morlini,  the  first  edition  of  which  was  printed  at  Naples  in  1520.  La  Fontaine 
has  put  it  at  the  beginning  of  his  tale  of  Joconde. 


132  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navari  e. 

objects  011  whom  they  bestow  their  favours  men  who  have  not 
the  boldness  to  tell  tales,  and  of  so  abject  a  condition  that,  even, 
were  they  to  blab,  they  would  not  be  believed.” 

“  I  have  heard  the  same  thing-  said  before  by  extravagantly 
jealous  folk,”  said  Longarine.  “But  surely  this  is  what  may  be 
called  painting  a  chimera  ;  for  though  such  a  thing  may  have 
happened  to  one  wretched  woman,  is  it  thence  to  be  inferred  that 
all  women  do  the  same  thing  ?  ” 

“  The  more  we  talk  on  this  subject,”  said  Parlamente,  “  the 
more  we  shall  be  maligned.  We  had  better  go  hear  vespers, 
that  we  may  not  keep  the  monks  waiting  for  us  as  we  did  yester¬ 
day.” 

This  proposal  was  unanimously  agreed  to. 

“  If  anyone,”  said  Oisille,  as  they  were  walking  back  to  the 
monastery,  “gives  thanks  to  God  for  having  told  the  truth  to¬ 
day,  Saffredent  ought  to  implore  his  pardon  for  having  told  such 
a  villanous  tale  against  the  ladies.” 

“  I  give  you  my  oath,”  said  Saffredent,  “  that  although  I  have 
only  spoken  upon  hearsay  what  I  have  told  you  is,  nevertheless, 
the  strict  truth.  But  if  I  choose  to  tell  you  what  I  could  relate 
of  women  from  my  own  knowledge,  you  would  make  more 
signs  of  the  cross  than  they  do  in  consecrating  a  church.” 

“  Since  you  have  so  bad  an  opinion  of  women,”  said  Par¬ 
lamente,  “  they  ought  to  banish  you  from  their  society.” 

“  There  are  some  who  have  so  well  practised  what  you  ad¬ 
vise,”  he  replied,  “that  if  I  could  say  worse  of  them,  and  do 
worse  to  them  all,  to  excite  them  to  avenge  me  on  her  who  does 
me  so  milch  injustice,  I  should  not  be  slow  to  do  so.” 

While  he  was  speaking,  Parlamente  put  on  her  half-mask  and 
went  with  the  rest  into  the  church,  where  they  found  that 
although  the  bell  had  been  rung  for  vespers  there  were  no 
monks  to  say  them.  The  fathers  had  been  apprised  of  the 
agreeable  manner  in  which  the  company  spent  their  time  in  the 
meadow,  and  being  fonder  of  pleasure  than  of  their  prayers, 
they  had  gone  and  crouched  down  there  in  a  ditch  behi  d  a 
very  thick  hedge,  and  had  listened  to  the  tales  with  so  much 
attention  that  they  had  not  heard  the  vesper-bell.  The  con¬ 
sequence  was  that  they  came  running  in  with  such  haste  that 
they  were  quite  out  of  breath  when  they  should  have  begun 
vespers.  After  service,  some  of  the  company  inquiring  of  them 
why  they  had  come  in  so  late  and  chanted  so  badly,  they  con¬ 
fessed  the  cause  ;  and  for  the  future  they  were  allowed  to  listen 
behind  the  hedge,  and  to  sit  at  their  ease.  The  supper  was  a 


V 


Novel  20.]  Second  Day.  133 

merry  one  ;  and  during  it  were  uttered  such  things  as  any  of  the 
company  had  lorgoiten  to  deliver  in  the  meadow.  This  tilled 
up  the  rest  of  the  evening,  until  Oisille  begged  them  to  retire, 
that  they  might  prepare  for  the  morrow,  saying  that  an  hour 
before  midnight  was  better  than  three  after  it.  Thereupon 
they  sought  their  respective  chambers,  and  so  ended  the  second 
day. 


♦ 


*34 


The  Heptamero?i  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 


THIRD  DAY. 

ARLY  as  it  was  next  morning  when  the  company  as¬ 
sembled  in  the  refectory,  they  found  Madame  Oisille 
already  there.  She  had  been  meditating  for  half  an 
hour  on  what  she  was  to  read  to  them  ;  and  so 
intent  were  they  upon  listening  to  her  that  they  did  not 
hear  the  bell,  and  a  monk  had  to  come  and  tell  them 
that  high  mass  was  about  to  begin.  After  hearing  mass  and 
dining  soberly,  in  order  to  have  their  memories  more  clear,  they 
all  retired  to  their  chambers  to  review  their  several  repertories  of 
tales  previously  to  the  next  meeting  in  the  meadow.  Those 
who  had  some  droll  story  to  tell  were  already  so  merry  that  one 
could  not  look  in  their  faces  without  being  prepared  beforehand 
for  a  hearty  laugh.  When  all  were  seated,  they  asked  Saffredent 
to  whom  he  addressed  his  call.  “  The  fault  I  committed  yester¬ 
day,”  he  said,  “  being  as  you  say  so  great,  and  knowing  not  how 
to  repair  it,  I  call  on  Parlamente.  Her  excellent  sense  will 
enable  her  to  praise  the  ladies  in  such  a  manner  as  will  make 
you  forget  the  truth  I  have  told  you.” 

“  I  do  not  undertake  to  repair  your  faults,”  replied  Parla¬ 
mente  ;  “  but  I  will  take  gooJ  care  not  to  imitate  them.  To 
this  end,  without  departing  from  the  truth  we  have  pledged 
ourselves  to  speak,  I  will  show  you  that  there  are  ladies  who  in 
their  love  have  had  no  other  end  in  view  than  virtue  and  honour. 
As  the  lady  of  whom  I  have  to  speak  is  of  a  good  family,  I  will 
change  nothing  in  her  story  but  the  names.  You  will  see, 
ladies,  from  what  I  am  going  to  narrate,  that  love  can  make  no 
change  in  a  chaste  and  virtuous  heart.” 


NOVEL  XXI. 

Virtuous  love  of  a  young  lady  of  quality  and  a  bastard  of  an  illustrious  touse 
— Hindrance  of  their  marriage  by  a  queen — Sage  reply  of  the  demoiselle  to 
the  queen — Her  subsequent  marriage. 

HERE  was  a  queen  in  France  who  had  in  her  house¬ 
hold  several  young  ladies  of  good  birth,  and  among  the 
rest  one  named  Rolandine,  who  was  her  near  relation. 
But  the  queen,  being  displeased  with  this  young  lady’s 
father,  punished  the  innocent  for  the  gudty,  and  behaved  not 
very  well  to  Rolandine.  Though  this  young  lady  was  neither  a 
areat  beauty  nor  the  reverse,  such  was  the  propriety  or1  her  de- 


Novel  21.]  Third  Day.  135 

meanour  and  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition,  that  many  great 
lords  sought  her  in  marriage,  but  obtained  no  reply,  lor  Ro- 
landine’s  father  was  so  fond  of  his  money  that  he  neglected  the 
establishment  of  his  daughter.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  so 
little  in  favour  of  her  mistress  that  she  was  not  wooed  by  those 
who  wished  to  ingratiate  themselves  with  the  queen.  Thus, 
through  the  negligence  of  her  father  and  the  disdain  of  her 
mistress,  this  poor  young  lady  remained  long  unmarried.  At 
last  she  took  this  sorely  to  heart,  not  so  much  from  eagerness  to 
be  married,  as  from  shame  at  not  being  so.  Her  grief  reached 
such  a  pitch  that  she  forsook  the  pomp  and  mundane  pursuits  of 
the  court  to  occupy  herself  only  with  prayer  and  some  little 
handiworks.  In  this  tranquil  manner  she  passed  her  youth, 
leading  the  most  blameless  and  devour  of  lives. 

When  she  was  approaching  her  thirtieth  year,  she  became 
acquainted  with  a  gentleman,  a  bastard  of  an  illustrious  house, 
and  one  of  the  best-bred  men  of  his  day,  but  ill  endowed  by 
fortune,  and  of  so  little  comeliness  that  no  one  but  herself  would 
have  readily  chosen  him  for  a  lover.  As  this  poor  gentleman 
had  remained  solitary  like  herself,  and  as  the  unfortunate 
naturally  seek  each  other’s  society,  he  one  day  accosted  Rolandine. 
There  being  a  strong  similitude  between  them  in  point  of 
temperament  and  fortune,  they  poured  their  griefs  into  each 
other’s  ears,  and  that  was  the  beginning  of  a  very  intimate 
friendship  between  them.  Seeing  that  they  both  laboured  under 
the  same  misfortune,  they  everywhere  sought  each  other  out  for 
mutual  consolation,  and  thus  they  became  more  and  more 
attached  to  each  other  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  Those  who 
had  known  Rolandine  so  coy  that  she  would  hardly  speak  to  any¬ 
one  were  shocked  to  see  her  every  moment  with  the  bastard,  and 
told  her  gouvernante  that  she  ought  not  to  permit  such  long 
conversations.  The  gouvernante  spoke  to  Rolandine  on  the 
subject,  telling  her  that  it  was  taken  amiss  that  she  should  be  on 
such  familiar  terms  with  a  man  who  was  neither  rich  enough  to 
marry  her,  nor  good-looking  enough  to  be  loved.  Rolandine, 
who  had  hitherto  been  reproved  for  her  austerity  rather  than 
for  her  mundane  ways,  replied,  “You  see,  mother,  that  I  cannot 
have  a  husband  of  my  own  quality.  I  have  hitherto  always 
attached  myself  to  the  young  and  good-looking  ;  but  as  I  am 
afraid  of  falling  into  the  pit  into  which  I  have  seen  so  many  fall, 
I  now  attach  myself  to  this  gentleman,  who,  as  you  know,  is  so 
correct  and  so  "irtuous  that  he  never  talks  to  me  but  of  seemly 
things.  What  harm,  then,  do  I  do  to  you,  and  to  those  who 


136  7he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

make  a  talk  about  it,  consoling  my  sorrows  by  means  of  an 
innocent  converse  ?  ” 

The  poor  woman,  who  loved  her  mistress  more  than  herself, 
made  answer,  “  I  see  plainly,  mademoiselle,  that  you  are  right, 
and  that  your  father  and  your  mistress  do  not  treat  you  as  you 
deserve.  But  since  this  acquaintance  gives  rise  to  remarks 
which  are  not  to  the  advantage  of  your  honour,  you  ought  to 
break  it  off,  though  the  man  were  your  own  brother.” 

“  I  will  do  so,  since  such  is  your  advice,”  replied  Rolandine, 
weeping,  “  but  it  is  very  hard  to  have  no  consolation  in  the 
world.” 

The  bastard  came  to  see  her  as  usual,  but,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  she  related  to  him  in  detail  all  that  her  gouvernante  had 
said  to  her,  and  begged  him  not  to  visit  her  any  more  until  this 
tattle  should  have  subsided  ;  and  he  complied  with  her  entreaty. 
Both  of  them  having  lost  their  consolation  through  this 
separation,  they  began  to  feel  an  uneasiness  such  as  neither  had 
ever  before  experienced.  Her  whole  time  was  spent  in  prayer, 
fasting,  and  journeying  ;  for  the  sentiment  of  love,  so  totally 
new  to  her,  caused  her  such  agitation  that  she  did  not  know  a 
moment’s  rest.  The  bastard  was  not  in  a  much  better  plight ; 
but  as  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  love  her  and  try  to  obtain 
her  for  a  wife,  and  saw  that  it  would  be  a  very  glorious  thing  for 
him  to  succeed  in  the  attempt,  his  only  thought  was  how  he 
should  press  his  suit,  and  how  he  should  secure  the  gouvernante 
in  his  interest.  To  this  end  he  represented  to  her  the  deplorable 
condition  of  her  mistress,  who  was  wilfully  deprived  of  all 
consolation.  The  good  woman  thanked  him  with  tears  for  the 
interest  he  took  in  her  mistress’s  welfare,  and  cast  about  with 
him  for  means  to  enable  him  to  have  an  interview  with  her.  It 
was  arranged  between  them  that  Rolandine  should  pretend  to  be 
troubled  with  a  headache,  which  made  all  noise  insupportable  to 
her  ;  and  that  when  her  companions  left  her  in  her  chamber,  the 
bastard  and  she  might  remain  alone,  and  converse  together  with¬ 
out  restraint.  The  bastard,  delighted  with  the  expedient,  gave 
himself  up  entirely  to  the  guidance  of  the  gouvernante,  and  in 
this  way  he  was  enabled  to  talk  with  his  mistress  whenever  he 
pleased. 

But  this  pleasure  was  not  of  long  duration  ;  for  the  queen, 
who  disliked  Rolandine,  asked  what  she  was  doing  in  her 
chamber.  Some  one  replied  that  she  had  a  headache ;  but 
somebody  else,  either  disliking  her  absence  or  wishing  to  cause 
her  annoyance,  said  that  the  pleasure  she  took  in  conversing  with 


V 


Novel  2 1.]  Third  Day.  137 

the  bastard  would  be  sure  to  cure  her  headache.  The  queen, 
who  regarded  as  mortal  sins  in  Rolandine  what  would  have  been 
venial  sins  in  others,  sent  for  her,  and  forbade  her  ever  to  speak 
to  the  basta-d,  except  in  her  own  chamber  or  hall.  Rolandine 
professed  obedience,  and  replied,  that  had  she  known  that  the 
bastard,  or  anyone  else,  was  displeasing  to  her  majesty,  she 
would  never  have  spoken  to  him.  At  the  same  time,  she  was 
inwardly  resolved  to  find  out  some  other  expedient,  of  which  the 
queen  should  know  nothing.  As  she  fasted  on  Wednesdays,. 
Fridays,  and  Saturdays,  and  did  not  quit  her  chamber,  she  took 
care  to  be  visited  on  those  days  by  the  bastard,  whom  she  was 
beginning  to  love  greatly,  and  had  time  to  talk  with  him  in 
presence  of  her  gouvernante  whilst  the  others  were  at  supper. 
The  less  time  they  had  at  their  disposal,  the  more  fervid  and 
impassioned  was  their  language  ;  for  they  stole  the  time  for 
mutual  conversation,  as  the  thief  steals  something  precious. 
But  there  is  no  secret  which  is  not  found  out  at  last.  A  varlet, 
having  seen  the  bastard  come  in  one  day,  mentioned  it  in  a 
place  where  it  failed  not  to  be  repeated,  till  it  reached  the  ears 
of  the  queen,  who  put  herself  into  such  a  towering  passion  that 
the  bastard  never  afterwards  durst  enter  the  chamber  of  the 
demoiselles.  He  often  pretended  to  go  a  journey,  in  order  to 
have  opportunity  to  see  the  object  of  his  affections,  and  every 
evening  he  used  to  return  to  the  chapel  of  the  chateau,  dressed 
someiimes  as  a  Cordelier,  sometimes  as  a  Jacobin,  and  always 
so  well  disguised  that  no  one  knew  him  except  Rolandine  and 
her  gouvernante,  who  failed  not  at  once  to  accost  the  good 
father. 

The  bastard,  feeling  assured  that  Rolandine  loved  him,  did 
not  scruple  to  say  to  her  one  day,  “  You  see,  mademoiselle,  to 
what  I  expose  myself  for  your  service,  and  how  the  queen  has 
forbidden  you  to  speak  to  me.  You  see,  too,  that  nothing  is 
further  from  your  father’s  thoughts  than  disposing  of  you  in 
marriage.  He  has  refused  so  many  good  offers  that  I  know  no 
one  far  or  near  who  can  have  you.  I  know  that  I  am  poor,  and 
that  you  could  not  marry  a  gentleman  who  was  not  richer  than 
myself ;  but  if  10  have  a  great  deal  of  love  were  to  be  rich.  I 
should  think  myself  the  most  opulent  man  in  the  world.  God 
has  given  you  great  wealth,  and  the  expectation  of  still  greater. 
If  I  were  so  happy  as  to  be  chosen  by  you  for  your  husband,  I 
would  be  all  my  life  your  spouse,  your  friend,  and  your  servant. 
If  you  marry  one  who  is  your  own  equal — and  such  a  one,  I 
think,  will  not  easily  be  found— he  will  insist  on  being  the 


«38  TJie  Hepta?neron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

master,  and  will  have  more  regard  to  your  wealth  than  to  your 
person,  to  beauty  than  to  virtue  ;  he  will  enjoy  your  wealth,  and 
will  not  treat  you  as  you  deserve.  My  longing  to  enjoy  this 
contentment,  and  my  fear  that  you  will  have  none  with  another, 
oblige  me  to  entreat  that  you  will  make  me  happy,  and  yourself 
the  best-satisfied  and  best-treated  wife  in  the  world.” 

Rolandine,  hearing  from  her  lover’s  lips  the  declaration  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  address  to  him,  replied,  with  a  glad 
face,  “  I  rejoice  that  you  have  anticipated  me,  and  have  said  to 
me  what  I  have  long  resolved  to  say  to  you.  Ever  since  I  have 
known  you,  now  two  years,  not  a  moment  has  passed  in  which  I_ 
have  not  thought  over  all  the  arguments  that  could  be  adduced 
in  your  favour  and  against  you  ;  but  at  last,  having  resolved  to 
engage  in  matrimony,  it  is  time  that  I  should  make  a  beginning, 
and  choose  the  man  with  whom  I  think  I  can  pass  my  life  with 
most  quiet  and  satisfaction.  I  have  had  as  suitors  men  of  good 
figure,  wealthy,  and  of  high  birth  ;  but  you  are  the  only  one  with 
whom  it  seems  to  me  that  my  heart  and  mind  can  best  agree. 

I  know  that  in  marrying  you  I  do  not  offend  God,  but  that,  on 
the  contrary,  I  do  what  he  commands.  As  for  my  father,  he  has 
so  much  neglected  the  duty  of  establishing  me,  and  has  rejected 
so  many  opportunities,  that  the  law  empowers  me  to  marry  with¬ 
out  his  having  a  right  to  disinherit  me  ;  but  even  should  I  have 
nothing  but  what  belongs  to  myself,  I  shall  esteem  myself  the 
happiest  woman  in  the  world  in  having  such  a  husband  as  you. 
As  for  the  queen,  my  mistress,  I  need  make  no  scruple  of  dis¬ 
obeying  her  to  obey  God,  since  she  has  not  scrupled  to  frustrate 
all  the  advantages  that  offered  themselves  to  me  during  my  youth. 
But  to  prove  to  you  that  my  love  for  you  is  founded  on  honour 
and  virtue,  I  require  your  promise  that,  in  case  I  consent  to  the 
marriage  you  propose,  you  will  not  ask  to  consummate  it  until 
after  the  death  of  my  father,  or  until  I  shall  have  found  means 
to  obtain  his  consent.” 

The  bastard  having  promised  this  with  alacrity,  they  gave  each 
other  a  ring  in  pledge  of  marriage,  and  exchanged  kisses  in  the 
church  before  God,  whom  they  ca  led  to  witness  their  mutual 
promise  ;  and  never  afterwards  was  there  anything  between  them 
of  a  more  intimate  nature  than  kisses.  This  slight  satisfaction 
quite  contented  these  two  perfect  lovers,  who  were  a  long  time 
without  seeing  each  other,  or  ever  giving  way  to  mutual  suspicion. 
There  was  hardly  a  place  where  honour  was  to  be  acquired  to 
which  the  bastard  did  not  repair,  being  assured  that  he  could 
raever  be  poor,  since  God  had  bestowed  on  him  a  rich  wife  ;  and 


Nwd  21.]  Third  Day.  139 

she,  during  his  absence,  so  faithfully  preserved  that  perfect 
affection  for  him,  that  she  made  no  account  of  any  other  man. 
There  were  some  who  sought  her  in  marriage,  and  had  for 
answer  that,  having  been  so  long  unmarried,  she  was  resolved  to 
remain  so  for  ever.  This  reply  obtained  such  publicity  that  it 
reached  the  ears  of  the  queen,  who  asked  her  the  reason  of  such 
language.  Rolandine  replied  that  it  was  dictated  by  obedience  ; 
that  she  well  knew  her  majesty  had  never  chosen  to  marry  her 
when  very  advantageous  matches  had  offered  ;  and  that  age  and 
patience  had  taught  her  to  be  content  with  her  present  cond'tion. 
Whenever  marriage  was  mentioned  to  her,  she  always  replied  to 
the  same  effect. 

The  war  being  ended,  and  the  bastard  having  returned  to 
court,  she  did  not  speak  to  him  before  others,  but  always  in 
the  church  under  pretext  of  confession,  for  the  queen  had  for¬ 
bidden  both  of  them,  on  pain  of  their  lives,  ever  to  converse 
except  in  public.  But  virtuous  love,  which  fears  no  prohibitions, 
was  more  ingenious  in  suggesting  to  them  means  and  opportunity 
to  meet  and  converse  than  their  enemies  in  hindering  them. 
There  was  no  monastic  habit  which  the  bastard  did  not  suc¬ 
cessively  assume  ;  and  by  that  means  their  intercourse  was  always 
agreeably  maintained,  until  the  king  went  to  one  of  his  country 
seats  near  Tours,  which  was  so  situated  that  the  ladies  could 
not  go  on  foot  to  any  other  church  than  that  of  the  chateau, 
which  had  such  an  exposed  confessional  that  the  confessor  would 
have  easily  been  recognized.  But  as  often  as  one  opportunity 
failed  them,  love  furnished  them  with  another.  At  that  very 
time  there  came  to  the  court  a  lady  nearly  related  to  the  bastard. 
She  and  her  son  were  lodged  in  the  king’s  residence  ;  and  the 
young  prince  had  a  projecting  chamber,  detached  as  it  were  from 
the  king’s  apartments,  and  so  placed  that  from  his  window  one 
could  see  and  speak  to  Rolandine,  their  windows  being  exactly 
at  the  angle  of  the  main  building  and  the  wing.  The  chamber 
which  was  over  the  king’s  hall  was  that  of  Rolandine  and  the 
other  ladies  of  honour.  Rolandine,  having  frequently  seen  the 
young  prince  at  the  window,  sent  word  of  the  fact  by  her 
gouvernante  to  the  bastard.  The  latter,  having  reconnoitred  the 
ground,  pretended  to  take  great  pleasure  in  reading  the  book  of 
the  Knights  of  tne  Round  Table,  which  was  one  of  those  belonging 
to  the  prince  ;  and  towards  dinner-hour  he  used  to  beg  a  valet- 
de-chambre  to  let  him  in,  and  leave  him  shut  up  in  the  chamber 
to  finish  reading  his  book.  The  valet,  knowing  him  to  be  his 
master’s  relation,  and  a  gentleman  to  be  trusted,  let  him  read  as 


140  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

much  as  he  pleased.  Rolandine,  on  her  part,  used  to  come  ic  hei 
window,  and  in  order  to  be  free  to  remain  there  the  longer,  she 
pretended  to  have  a  sore  leg  ;  and  she  took  her  meals  so  early 
that  she  had  no  need  to  go  to  the  table  of  the  ladies  of  honour. 
She  also  bethought  her  of  working  at  a  crimson  silk  coverlet, 
which  she  hung  at  the  window,  where  she  was  very  glad  to  be 
left  alone  to  converse  with  her  husband,  who  spoke  in  such  a 
manner  that  no  one  could  ovehear  them.  When  he  saw  anyone 
coming  she  coughed,  and  made  signs  to  the  bastard  to  retire. 
Those  who  had  orders  to  watch  them  were  persuaded  that  there 
was  no  love  between  them,  for  she  never  quitted  a  chamber  in 
which  he  certainly  could  not  see  her,  the  entrde  being  forbidden  him. 

The  mother  of  the  young  prince,  being  one  day  in  her  son’s 
chamber,  placed  herself  at  the  window  where  lay  the  big  book. 
Presently  one  of  Rolandine’s  companions  in  office,  who  was  at 
the  window  of  their  chamber,  saluted  the  lady.  The  latter  asked 
her  how  Rolandine  was.  The  other  replied  that  she  should  see 
her  if  she  pleased,  and  made  her  come  to  the  window  in  her 
nightcap.  After  some  conversation  about  Rolandine’s  illness, 
both  parties  retired.  The  lady  casting  her  eyes  on  the  big 
book  of  the  Round  Table,  said  to  the  valet-de-chambre  who  had 
charge  of  it,  “  I  am  astonished  that  young  people  give  up  their 
time  to  reading  such  follies.”  The  valet-de-chambre  replied 
that  he  was  still  more  surprised  that  persons  of  ripe  years,  and 
who  passed  for  sensible  people,  were  more  attached  to  them 
than  the  young  ;  and  thereupon  he  told  her,  as  a  curious  fact, 
how  the  bastard,  her  relation,  spent  four  or  five  hours  everyday 
in  reading  that  book.  The  lady  at  once  guessed  the  reason,  and 
ordered  ihe  valet-de-chambre  to  conceal  himself,  and  watch 
narrowly  what  the  bastard  did.  The  valet-de-chambre  executed 
his  commision,  and  found  that,  instead  of  reading,  the  bastard 
planted  himself  at  the  window,  and  that  Rolandine  came  and 
talked  with  him.  He  even  overheard  many  expressions  of  their 
love,  which  they  thought  they  had  so  well  concealed.  Next 
day,  the  valet  having  told  his  mistress  what  he  had  seen  and  heard, 
she  sent  for  her  cousin,  the  bastard,  and  after  some  sharp  remon¬ 
strances,  forbade  him  evermore  to  place  himself  at  that  window. 
In  the  evening  she  spoke  to  Rolandine,  and  threatened  she  would 
inform  the  queen  if  she  persisted  in  that  foolish  attachment. 
Rolandine,  without  losing  her  presence  of  mind,  replied  that, 
whatever  the  lady  might  have  been  told,  she  had  not  spoken  to 
the  bastard  since  she  had  been  prohibited  from  doing  so  by  her 
mistress,  as  her  companions  and  her  servants  could  witness.  As 


Novel  21.]  Third  Day.  141 

for  the  window  of  which  the  lady  spoke,  she  had  never  talked 
there  with  the  bastard. 

The  lover,  now  fearing  lest  his  intrigue  should  be  exposed,  with¬ 
drew  from  the  danger,  and  absented  himself  for  a  long  time  from 
court,  but  not  without  writing  to  Rolandine,  which  he  managed 
to  do  with  such  address  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  queen  could  do, 
Rolandine  heard  from  him  twice  a  week.  In  the  first  instance  he 
employed  a  monk  to  convey  his  letters  ;  but  this  means  failing, 
he  sent  a  little  page,  dressed  sometimes  in  one  colour,  sometimes 
in  another.  The  page  used  to  post  himself  at  the  places  through 
which  the  ladies  passed,  and,  mingling  with  the  other  servants, 
found  means  always  to  deliver  his  letters  to  Rolandine.  The 
queen  going  into  the  country,  one  of  those  persons  whom  she  had 
charged  to  be  on  the  watch  regarding  this  affair  recognized  the 
page,  and  ran  after  him  ;  but  the  page,  who  was  a  cunning  lad, 
darted  into  the  house  of  a  poor  woman,  who  was  boiling  her  pot, 
and  instantly  thrust  his  letters  into  the  fire.  The  gentleman  who 
pursued  him,  having  caught  and  stripped  him  naked,  searched 
him  all  over,  but,  finding  nothing,  let  him  go.  When  the  page 
was  gone,  the  good  woman  asked  the  gentleman  why  he  had 
searched  the  poor  boy  in  that  manner.  He  replied  that  it  was 
because  he  believed  the  boy  had  letters  about  him.  “You  were 
not  likely  to  find  them,”  she  said  :  “  he  had  hidden  them  too  well.” 
“  Where,  pray  ?  ”  inquired  the  gentleman,  who  now  made  sure  of 
having  them.  He  was  quite  confounded  when  he  heard  that  they 
were  burnt,  and  saw  that  the  page  had  been  too  clever  for  him. 
However,  he  went  at  once,  and  told  the  queen  what  he  had 
ascertained. 

The  bastard,  not  being  able  to  employ  the  page  any  more,  sent 
in  his  stead  an  old  domestic,  who,  without  caring  for  the  threats 
of  death  which  he  well  knew  the  queen  had  proclaimed  against 
all  who  should  meddle  in  this  affair,  undertook  to  convey  the  letters 
to  Rolandine.  Having  entered  the  chateau,  he  stationed  himself 
at  a  door  which  was  at  the  foot  of  a  great  staircase  used  by  all  the 
ladies,  but  a  valet,  who  had  formerly  known  him,  recognized  him 
at  once,  and  denounced  him  to  the  queen’s  maitre  d’  hotel,  who 
gave  orders  for  his  instant  arrest.  The  wary  servant,  seeing  that 
he  was  watched,  turned  to  the  wall,  under  a  certain  pretence,  tore 
his  letters  into  the  smallest  possible  pieces,  and  threw  them  be¬ 
hind  the  door.  Immediately  afterwards  he  was  arrested  and 
searched,  but  nothing  being  found  on  him,  he  was  interrogated 
upon  oath  as  to  whether  he  had  not  carried  letters.  Nothing  was 
left  untried  in  the  way  of  promises  or  threats  to  make  him  confess 


142 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarrt. 

the  truth,  but,  in  spite  of  all  they  could  do,  they  could  never  get 
anything  out  of  him.  The  unsatisfactory  result  was  reported  to 
the  queen  ;  but  some  one  having  thought  of  looking  behind  the 
door,  found  there  the  fragments  of  the  letters.  The  king’s  con¬ 
fessor  was  sent  for  ;  and  having  arranged  all  the  pieces  on  a  table 
he  read  the  whole  of  the  letter,  in  which  the  secret  marriage  was 
plainly  revealed,  for  the  bastard  called  Rolandine  his  wife.  The 
queen,  who  was  not  of  a  humour  to  conceal  her  neighbour’s  fault, 
made  a  great  noise  about  the  matter ;  and  insisted  on  every 
means  being  employed  to  make  the  man  confess  the  truth 
respecting  the  letter,  the  identity  of  which  he  could  not  deny  ;  but 
say  to  him  or  show  him  what  they  would,  there  was  no  possibility 
of  making  him  avow  anything.  Those  who  had  been  com¬ 
missioned  in  this  matter  took  him  to  the  edge  of  the  river,  and 
put  him  into  a  sack,  telling  him  that  he  lied  to  God  and  the  queen, 
contrary  to  the  proved  truth.  Choosing  rather  to  die  than  to 
betray  his  master,  he  asked  for  a  confessor,  and  after  having  set 
his  conscience  right,  he  said  to  them,  “  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  tell  the 
bastard,  my  master,  that  I  commend  to  him  my  wife  and  my 
children,  and  that  I  die  with  a  good  heart  for  his  service.  Do 
with  me  what  you  please,  and  be  assured  that  you  will  never  ex¬ 
tract  anything  from  me  to  my  master’s  disadvantage.”  Then,  to 
frighten  him  more,  they  threw  him  into  the  water,  shut  up  as  he 
was  in  the  sack,  and  shouted  to  him  that  his  life  should  be  saved 
if  he  would  speak  the  truth  ;  but  seeing  that  he  made  no  reply, 
they  took  him  out  of  the  water,  and  reported  his  firm  behaviour 
to  the  queen.  “  Neither  the  king  nor  myself,”  said  her  majestyt 
“is  so  fortunate  in  servants  as  the  bastard,  who  has  not  where¬ 
withal  to  reward  them.”  She  did  all  she  could  to  engage  the 
worthy  fellow  in  her  service,  but  he  would  never  quit  his  master, 
until  the  latter  permitted  him  to  enter  the  service  of  the  queen,  in 
which  he  lived  happy  and  contented. 

Having  discovered  the  secret  marriage  by  means  of  the  in¬ 
tercepted  letter,  the  queen  sent  for  Rolandine,  and  with  great 
violence  of  manner  called  her  several  times  wretch  instead  ol 
cousin,  upbraiding  her  with  the  dishonour  she  had  done  to  her 
house,  and  to  her  who  was  her  mistress,  in  having  thus  married 
without  her  consent.  Rolandine,  who  was  long  aware  of  the 
little  kindness  the  queen  entertained  for  her,  fully  returned  that 
feeling.  As  there  was  no  love  between  them,  fear  no  longer 
availed  ;  and  as  Rolandine  saw  plainly  that  a  reprimand  so 
publicly  given  was  prompted  less  by  regard  for  her  than  by  the 
wish  to  put  her  to  shame,  and  that  the  queen  was  more  pleased 


Novel  2id\  Third  Day.  14  3 

in  mortifying  her  than  grieved  to  find  her  in  fault,  she  replied, 
with  an  air  as  calm  and  composed  as  that  of  the  queen  was 
agitated  and  passionate,  “  If  you  did  not  know  your  own  heart, 
madam,  I  would  set  before  you  the  bad  feeling  you  have  long 
entertained  towards  my  father  and  me  ;  but  you  know  it  so  well, 
that  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  it  is  not  a  secret 
for  anybody.  For  my  part,  madam,  I  have  seen  and  felt  it  to 
my  cost.  If  you  had  been  as  kind  to  me  as  to  those  who  are 
not  so  nearly  related  to  you,  I  should  now  be  married  in  a 
manner  that  would  do  honour  both  to  you  and  to  me  ;  but  you 
have  forsaken  me,  and  not  shown  me  the  least  mark  of  favour, 
so  that  I  have  missed  all  the  good  offers  I  have  had  through  my 
father’s  negligence  and  the  little  account  you  have  made  of  me. 
This  unkind  treatment  threw  me  into  such  despair  that,  if  my 
health  had  been  strong  enough  to  endure  the  austerities  of  a 
convent,  I  would  gladly  have  entered  one  to  escape  from  the 
continual  vexations  which  your  harshness  caused  me.  In  the 
midst  of  this  despondency  I  became  aquainted  with  one  who 
would  be  of  as  good  a  house  as  myself,  if  the  love  of  two  persons 
was  as  much  esteemed  as  the  matrimonial  ring  ;  for  you  know 
that  his  father  would  take  precedence  of  mine.  He  has  long 
loved  and  cheered  me  ;  but  you,  madam,  who  have  never  for¬ 
given  me  the  least  fault,  or  praised  any  good  act  I  may  have 
done,  though  you  knew  by  experience  it  was  not  my  wont  to 
talk  of  love  and  mundane  vanities,  and  that  I  lived  a  more 
religious  life  than  any  other  of  your  servants,  you  have  not  hesi¬ 
tated  from  the  first  to  take  offence  at  my  speaking  to  a  gentle¬ 
man  as  unfortunate  as  myself,  and  in  whose  friendship  I  sought 
nothing  else  than  consolation  of  mind.  When  I  saw  that  I  was 
entirely  deprived  of  this,  my  despair  was  so  great  that  I  resolved 
to  seek  my  repose  with  as  much  solicitude  as  you  took  to  deprive 
me  of  it.  From  that  very  hour  we  interchanged  promises  of 
marriage  which  were  sealed  with  a  ring.  It  seems  to  me,  then, 
madam,  that  you  wrong  me  in  calling  me  wicked.  The  great 
and  perfect  friendship  which  subsists  between  the  bastard  and 
myself  would  have  given  me  occasion  to  do  wrong  if  I  had  been 
so  disposed,  yet  we  have  never  gone  further  than  kissing,  it 
being  my  conviction  that  God  would  do  me  the  grace  to  obtain 
my  father’s  consent  before  the  consummation  of  our  marriage. 

J  have  done  nothing  against  God  or  against  my  conscience.  I 
have  waited  till  the  age  of  thirty  to  see  what  you  and  my  father 
would  do  for  me  ;  and  my  youth  has  been  passed  in  such  chas¬ 
tity  and  virtue  that  no  one  in  the  world  can  justly  cast  the  least 


544  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

reproach  upon  me  in  that  respect.  Finding  myself  on  the 
decline,  and  without  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  husband  of  my  own 
rank,  reason  determined  me  to  take  one  according  to  m/ taste, 
not  for  the  lust  of  the  eyes,  for,  as  you  know,  he  whom  I  have 
chosen  is  not  comely  ;  nor  yet  for  that  of  the  flesh,  since  there 
has  been  no  consummation  ;  nor  for  the  pride  and  ambition  of 
this  life,  for  he  is  poor,  and  of  little  preferment ;  but  I  have 
had  regard  purely  and  simply  to  the  virtue  and  good  qualities  he 
possesses,  as  to  which  all  the  world  is  constrained  to  do  him 
justice,  and  to  the  great  love  he  has  for  me,  which  affords  me 
the  hope  of  enjoying  quiet  and  contentment  with  him.  After 
having  maturely  considered  the  good  and  the  evil  which  might 
result  to  me,  I  took  the  course  which  appeared  to  me  the  best, 
and  finally  resolved,  after  two  years’  examination,  to  end  my  life 
with  him  ;  and  this  I  so  fully  resolved  that  no  torments  which 
could  be  inflicted  upon  me,  nor  death  itself,  could  make  me 
change  my  purpose.  So,  madam,  I  beseech  you  to  excuse  in 
me  what  is  highly  excusable,  as  you  very  well  know,  and  leave 
me  to  enjoy  the  prace  and  quiet  I  expect  to  find  with  him.” 

The  queen,  unable  to  make  any  reasonable  reply  to  language 
so  resolute  and  so  true,  could  only  renew  her  passionate  chiding 
and  abuse,  and  bursting  into  tears,  “Wretch,”  she  said,  “  instead 
of  humbling  yourself,  and  testifying  repentance  for  the  fault  you 
have  committed,  you  sp^-ak  with  audacity,  and,  instead  of  blush¬ 
ing,  you  do  not  so  much  as  shed  one  tear  ;  thereby  giving  plain 
proof  of  your  obstinacy  and  hardness  of  heart.  But  if  the  king 
and  your  father  do  as  I  would  have  them,  they  will  put  you  in  a 
place  where  you  will  be  constrained  to  hold  other  language.” 

“  Since  you  accuse  me,  madam,  of  speaking  with  audacity,” 
replied  Rolandine,  “  I  am  resolved  to  say  no  more,  ufiiess  you 
are  pleased  to  permit  me  to  speak.”  The  queen  having  given 
her  permission,  she  continued  :  “  It  is  not  for  me,  madam,  to 
speak  to  you  with  audacity.  As  you  are  my  mistress,  and  the 
greatest  princess  in  Christendom,  I  must  always  entertain  for 
you  the  respect  which  is  your  due  ;  and  it  has  never  been  my 
intention  to  depart  from  it.  But  as  I  have  no  advocate  but  the 
truth,  and  as  it  is  known  to  myself  alone,  I  am  obliged  to  speak 
it  boldly,  in  the  hope  that  if  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  make 
you  thoroughly  cognisant  of  it,  you  will  not  believe  me  to  be 
such  as  you  have  been  pleased  to  call  me.  I  am  not  afraid  that 
any  mortal  creature  should  know  in  what  manner  I  have  con¬ 
ducted  myself  in  the  affair  which  is  laid  to  my  charge,  for  I  know 
toat  i  have  not  done  anything  contrary  either  to  God  or  to  my 


tfcvel  si.]  'Third  Day,  145 

honour.  This,  madam,  is  what  makes  me  speak  without  fear, 
being  well  assured  that  He  who  sees  my  heart  is  with  me  ;  and 
with  such  a  judge  on  my  side,  I  should  be  wrong  to  fear  those 
who  are  subject  to  his  judgment.  Wherefore  should  I  weep, 
madam,  since  honour  and  conscience  do  not  upbraid  me  ?  As 
to  repentance,  madam,  I  am  so  far  from  repenting  of  what  I  have 
done  that  were  it  to  be  done  again,  I  would  do  it.  It  is  you, 
madam,  who  have  great  reason  to  weep,  both  for  the  wrong 
you  have  done  me  in  the  past,  and  for  that  which  you  now  do 
me  in  censuring  me  publicly  for  a  fault  of  which  you  are  more 
guilty  than  I.  If  I  had  offended  God,  the  king,  you,  my  kin¬ 
dred,  and  my  conscience,  I  ought  to  testify  my  repentance  by  my 
tears  ;  but  I  ought  not  to  wreep  for  having  done  an  act  that 
is  good,  just,  and  holy,  which  would  never  have  been  spoken  of 
but  with  honour,  if  you,  madam,  had  not  prematurely  divulged 
it,  and  given  it  an  air  of  culpability  ;  thereby  plainly  showing 
that  you  are  bent  on  dishonouring  me  than  on  preserving  the 
honour  of  your  house  and  your  kindred.  But  since  it  is  your 
pleasure,  madam,  to  act  thus,  it  is  not  for  me  to  gainsay  you. 
Innocent  as  I  am,  I  shall  feel  no  less  pleasure  in  submitting  to 
the  punishment  you  may  choose  to  inflict  upon  me  than  you  in 
imposing  it.  You  and  my  father,  madam,  have  but  to  say  what 
you  desire  that  I  should  suffer,  and  you  shall  be  promptly 
obeyed.  I  reckon  upon  it,  madam,  that  he  will  not  be  back¬ 
ward  in  this  ;  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  he  will  share  your 
sentiments,  and  if,  after  having  agreed  with  you  in  the  negli¬ 
gence  he  has  shown  in  providing  for  my  welfare,  he  imitates 
your  activity  now  that  the  question  is  how  to  do  me  harm.  But 
I  have  another  Father  in  Heaven,  who,  I  hope,  will  give  me 
patience  to  endure  the  evils  I  see  you  are  preparing  for  me  ;  ana 
it  is  in  Him  alone  I  put  my  whole  trust.” 

The  queen,  bursting  with  rage,  gave  orders  that  Rolandine 
should  be  taken  out  of  her  sight,  and  shut  up  alone  in  a 
chamber  where  she  should  not  be  allowed  to  speak  to  anyone. 
Nevertheless,  her  gouvernante  was  left  with  her,  and  through  her 
it  was  that  Rolandine  made  known  her  present  condition  to  the 
bastard,  asking  his  advice  at  the  same  time  as  to  what  she 
should  do.  The  bastard,  believing  that  the  services  he  had 
rendered  to  the  king  would  be  counted  for  something,  repaired 
at  once  to  the  court.  He  found  the  king  at  the  chase,  told  him 
the  truth  of  the  matter,  rer.inded  him  of  his  poverty,  and 
besought  his  majesty  to  appea  e  the  queen  and  permit  the  con¬ 
summation  of  the  marriage.  The  king  made  no  other  reply 


(46  TJie  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

than  to  say,  “  Do  you  assure  me  that  you  have  married 
her  ?  ” 

“Yes,  sire,”  replied  the  bastard,  “by  words  and  by  presents 
only  ;  but  if  your  majesty  pleases,  the  ceremony  shall  be 
completed.” 

The  king  looked  down,  and  without  saying  another  word 
returned  to  the  chateau.  On  arriving  there,  he  called  for  the 
captain  of  his  guards,  and  ordered  him  to  arrest  the  bastard. 
However,  one  of  the  friends  of  the  latter,  who  guessed  the 
king’s  intention,  sent  him  warning  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and 
retire  to  one  of  his  houses  which  was  not  far  off,  promising  that 
it  the  king  should  send  in  search  of  him,  as  he  expected  would 
be  the  case,  he  should  have  prompt  notice,  so  that  he  might  quit 
the  kingdom  ;  and  that,  should  matters  be  more  favourable,  he 
would  send  him  word  to  return.  The  bastard  took  his  friend’s 
advice,  and  made  such  good  speed  that  the  captain  of  the  guards 
did  not  find  him. 

Meanwhile,  the  king  and  queen  having  conferred  together  as 
to  what  should  be  done  with  the  poor  lady  who  had  the  honour 
to  be  their  relation,  it  was  decided,  at  the  queen’s  suggestion, 
that  she  should  be  sent  back  to  her  father,  who  should  be  made 
acquainted  with  the  truth  of  the  matter.  Before  she  went 
away,  several  ecclesiastics  and  people  of  sage  counsel  went  to  see 
her,  and  represented  to  her  that,  being  engaged  only  by  word 
of  mouth,  the  marriage  could  easily  be  dissolved,  provided  both 
parties  were  willing,  and  that  it  was  the  king’s  pleasure  she 
should  do  so,  for  the  honour  of  the  house  to  which  she  belonged  ; 
but  she  replied  that  she  was  ready  to  obey  the  king  in  all  things, 
provided  conscience  was  not  implicated  ;  but  what  God  had 
joined,  men  could  not  put  asunder.  She  besought  them  not  to 
ask  of  her  a  thing  so  unreasonable.  “  If  the  love  and  the  good¬ 
will  which  are  founded  only  on  the  fear  of  God,”  she  added, 
“  are  a  true  and  solid  bond  of  marriage,  then  am  I  so  closely 
bound  that  neither  steel,  nor  fire,  nor  water  can  loose  me. 
Death  alone  can  do  so,  and  to  it  alone  will  I  surrender  my  ring 
and  my  oath  ;  so,  gentlemen,  I  beg  you  will  say  no  more  to  me 
on  the  subject.”  She  had  so  much  steadfastness,  that  she  would 
rather  die,  and  keep  her  word,  than  live  after  having  broken  it. 

This  resolute  reply  was  reported  to  the  king,  who,  seeing 
that  it  was  impossible  to  detach  her  from  her  husband,  gave 
orders  that  she  should  be  taken  away  to  her  father’s  ;  and 
thither  she  was  carried,  with  such  little  ceremony  or  regard 
to  her  quality,  that  none  who  saw  how  she  was  treated  could 


V 


Novel  2i.J  Third  Day.  147 

restrain  their  tears.  She  had  transgressed,  indeed  ;  but  het 
punishment  was  so  great,  and  her  fortitude  so  singular,  that 
they  made  her  fault  seem  a  virtue.  Her  father,  on  hearing  this 
disagreeable  news,  would  not  see  his  daughter,  but  sent  her 
away  to  a  castle  situated  in  a  forest,  and  which  he  had  formerly 
built  for  a  reason  well  worthy  to  be  narrated.  There  she  was 
for  a  long  time  a  prisoner,  and  every  day  she  was  told,  by  her 
father’s  orders,  that  if  she  would  renounce  her  husband  he 
would  treat  her  as  his  daughter,  and  set  her  at  liberty.  But 
nothing  could  shake  her  constmcy.  One  would  have  thought 
she  made  pleasant  pastime  of  her  sufferings,  to  see  how  cheer¬ 
fully  she  bore  them  for  the  sake  of  him  she  loved. 

What  shall  I  say  here  of  men  ?  The  bastard,  who  was  under 
such  obligations  to  her,  fled  to  Germany,  where  he  had  many 
friends,  and  showed  by  his  inconstancy  that  he  had  attached 
himself  to  Rolandine  through  avarice  and  ambition  rather  than 
through  real  love  ;  for  he  became  so  enamoured  of  a  German 
lady  that  he  forgot  to  write  to  her  who  was  suffering  so  much 
for  his  sake.  However  cruel  fortune  was  towards  them,  she  yet 
left  it  always  in  their  power  to  write  to  each  other  ;  but  this  sole 
comfort  was  lost  through  the  bastard’s  inconstancy  and  negli¬ 
gence,  whereat  Rolandine  was  distressed  beyond  measure.  The 
few  letters  he  did  write  were  so  cold  and  so  different  from  those 
she  had  formerly  received  from  him,  that  she  felt  assured  some 
new  amour  had  deprived  her  of  her  husband’s  heart,  and  done 
what  vexations  and  persecutions  had  been  incapable  of  effecting. 
But  her  love  for  him  was  too  great  to  allow  of  her  taking  any 
decisive  step  on  mere  conjectures.  In  order,  therefore,  to  know 
the  truth,  she  found  means  to  send  a  trusty  person,  not  to  carry 
any  letters  or  messages  to  him,  but  to  observe  him,  and  make 
careful  inquiries.  This  envoy,  on  his  return,  informed  her  that 
the  bastard  was  deeply  in  love  with  a  German  lady,  and  that  it 
was  said  she  was  very  rich,  and  that  he  wished  to  marry  her. 
So  extreme  was  poor  Rolandine’s  affliction  on  learning  this  news 
that  she  fell  into  a  dangerous  illness.  Those  who  were  aware 
of  its  cause  told  her,  on  the  part  of  her  father,  that  since  the 
bastard’s  inconstant  and  dastardly  behaviour  were  known,  she 
had  a  perfect  right  to  abandon  him  ;  and  they  tried  hard  to 
persuade  her  to  do  so.  But  it  was  in  vain  they  tormented  her  ; 
she  remained  unchanged  to  the  end,  displaying  alike  the  great¬ 
ness  of  her  love  and  of  her  virtue.  In  proportion  as  the 
bastard's  love  diminished,  Rolandine’s  augmented,  the  latter 
gaining  as  it  were  all  that  the  former  lost.  Feeling  that  in  her 


148  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

bosom  alone  was  lodged  all  the  love  that  had  formerly  dwelt  in 
two,  she  resolved  to  cherish  it  until  the  death  of  the  one  or  the 
other. 

♦ 

The  divine  goodness,  which  is  perfect  charity  and  true  love, 
took  pity  on  her  sorrows,  and  had  so  much  regard  for  her 
patience  that  the  bastard  died  soon  after,  in  the  midst  of  his 
wooing  of  another  woman.  The  news  being  brought  her  by 
persons  who  had  been  present  at  his  burial,  she  sent  to  her 
father,  begging  he  would  be  so  good  as  to  allow  her  to  say  a  few 
words  to  him.  Her  father,  who  had  never  spoken  to  her  during 
the  whole  time  of  her  captivity,  went  to  her  forthwith.  After 
having  heard  her  plead  her  justification  at  very  great  length, 
instead  of  condemning  and  thinking  of  killing  her,  as  he  had 
often  threatened,  he  embraced  her,  and  said,  with  swimming 
eyes,  “  You  are  more  just  than  I,  my  daughter  ;  for  if  you  have 
committed  a  fault,  I  am  the  principal  cause  of  it.  But  since  it 
has  pleased  God  that  things  should  happen  thus,  I  will  try  to 
mak-i  amends  for  the  past.”  Accordingly,  he  took  her  home, 
and  treated  her  as  his  eldest  daughter. 

A  gentleman  who  bore  the  name  and  the  arms  of  the  family 
at  last  sought  her  in  marriage.  This  gentleman,  who  was  very 
prudent  and  virtuous,  often  saw  Rolandine,  and  conceived  so 
much  esteem  for  her  that  he  praised  her  for  what  others  blamed, 
persuaded  as  he  was  that  she  acted  only  upon  virtuous  principles. 
The  chevalier  being  liked  both  bv  the  father  and  the  daughter, 
the  marriage  was  forthwith  concluded.  It  is  true  that  a  brother 
she  had,  and  who  wras  the  father’s  sole  heir,  would  never  give 
her  a  portion  of  the  family  wealth,  under  pretext  that  she  had 
been  wanting  in  obedience  to  her  father  ;  after  whose  death  he 
treated  her  so  cruelly  that  she  and  her  husband,  who  was  a 
younger  son,  found  it  a  hard  matter  to  subsist.  But  God  pro¬ 
vided  a  remedy,  for  the  brother,  who  wished  to  retain  all,  died, 
leaving  behind  him  both  his  own  wealth  and  that  of  his  sister, 
which  he  unjustly  retained.  By  this  means  Rolandine  and  her 
husband  were  raised  to  great  affluence.  They  lived  honourably, 
according  to  their  quality,  were  grateful  for  the  favours  bestowed 
on  them  by  Providence,  had  much  love  for  one  another,  and, 
after  they  had  brought  up  two  sons,  with  whom  it  pleased  God 
to  bless  their  marriage,  Rolandine  joyfully  yielded  up  her  soul 
to  Him  in  whom  she  had  always  put  her  whole  trust.* 

*  The  Bibliophiles  Frar>9ais  have  clearly  enough  identified  the  persons  in 
this  story.  The  Queen  of  France  is  the  celebrated  Anne  of  Bretagne,  wife  of 
Charles  VII I.  and  of  Louis  XTT.  Rolandine  is  Anna  de  Rohan,  third  chili 


V 


Novel  21.]  Third  Day.  149 

Ladies,  let  the  men  who  regard  us  as  inconstancy’s  very  self 
show  us  a  husband  like  the  wife  of  whom  I  have  been  telling 
you,  one  who  had  the  same  goodness,  fidelity,  and  constancy. 

1  am  suie  they  will  find  the  task  so  very  hard  that  I  will  acquit 
them  of  it  altogether,  rather  than  put  them  tc  such  infinite  pain. 

As  for  you,  ladies,  I  beg  that,  for  the  maintenance  of  your  dig¬ 
nity,  you  will  either  not  love  at  all,  or  love  as  perfectly  as  this 
demoiselle.  Do  not  say  that  she  exposed  her  honour,  since  by 
her  firmness  she  has  been  the  means  of  so  augmenting  ours. 

“  It  is  true,  Oisille,”  said  Parlamente,  “that  your  heroine  was 
a  woman  of  a  very  lofty  spirit,  and  the  more  commendable  for 
her  steadfastness  as  she  had  to  do  with  an  unfaithful  husband, 
who  wished  to  quit  her  for  another.” 

“  That,  I  think,”  said  Longarine,  “  must  have  been  the  hardest 
thing  for  her  to  bear;  for  there  is  no  burden  so  heavy  which  the 
love  of  two  persons  who  are  truly  united  may  not  bear  with  ease 
and  comfort ;  but  when  one  of  the  two  deserts  his  duty,  and 
leaves  the  whole  burden  to  the  other,  the  weight  becomes  in¬ 
supportable.” 

“You  ought  then  to  have  pity  on  us,”  said  Geburon,  “since 
we  have  to  bear  the  whole  weight  of  love,  and  you  will  not  so 
much  as  help  with  a  finger-end  to  ease  the  burden.” 

“  The  burdens  of  the  man  and  of  the  woman  are  often 
different,”  observed  Parlamente.  “  The  wife’s  love,  founded  on 
piety  and  virtue,  is  so  just  and  reasonable,  that  he  who  is  un¬ 
true  to  the  duties  of  such  a  friendship  ought  to  be  regarded  as  a 
dastard,  and  wicked  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man.  But  as  men 
love  only  with  a  view  to  pleasure,  women,  who  in  their  ignorance 
are  always  the  dupes  of  wicked  men,  often  engage  themselves  too 
deeply  in  a  commerce  of  tenderness  ;  but  when  God  makes  known 
to  them  the  criminal  intentions  of  those  whom  they  supposed  to 
entertain  none  but  good  ones,  they  may  break  off  with  honour,  . 
and  without  damage  to  their  reputation,  for  the  shortest  follies 
are  always  the  best.” 

“That  is  a  mere  whim  of  your  own,”  said  Hircan,  “to  assert 
that  virtuous  women  may  honourably  cease  to  love  men,  whilst 

and  eldest  daughter  of  Jean  II.,  Viscount  of  Rohan,  Count  of  Porhoet,  Leon, 
and  La  Garnache.  She  married,  in  1517,  Pierrede  Rohan,  Baron  of  Frontenay, 
by  whom  she  had  two  sons.  The  bastard  appears  to  have  been  Jean,  Bastard 
of  AngoulSme,  legitimised  in  1458  by  Charles  ViL;  and  the  lady,  the  mother 
of  the  young  prince,  who  forbade  the  bastard  to  continue  his  interviews  with 
Rolandine  at  the  window,  and  who  m  1st,  therefore,  have  had  a  certain  right  to 
command  him,  was  probably  Louise  of  Savoy. 


150  The  Heptamero7i  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

the  latter  may  not  in  like  manner  cease  to  love  women  ;  as  if 
the  heart  of  the  one  sex  was  different  from  that  of  the  other. 
For  my  part,  I  am  persuaded  that,  in  spite  of  diversity  in  faces 
and  dresses,  the  inclinations  of  both  are  the  same  ;  the  only  dif¬ 
ference  is  that  the  more  hidden  guilt  is  the  worse." 

“  I  am  very  well  aware,"  said  Parlamente,  with  some  anger, 
“  that  in  your  opinion  the  least  guilty  women  are  those  whose 
guilt  is  known." 

“  Let  us  change  the  subject,"  interrupted  Simontault,  “  and 
dismiss  that  of  the  heart  of  man  and  of  woman  by  saying  that 
the  best  of  them  is  good  for  nothing.  Let  us  see  to  whom  Par¬ 
lamente  will  give  her  voice." 

“To  Geburon,”  she  said. 

“  Since  I  have  begun  with  mentioning  the  Cordeliers,"  said  he, 
“  I  must  not  forget  the  monks  of  St.  Benedict,  and  cannot  for¬ 
bear  relating  what  happened  in  my  time  to  two  of  these  good 
fathers  ;  at  the  same  time,  let  not  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  of 
a  wicked  monk  hinder  you  from  having  a  good  opinion  of  those 
that  deserve  it.  But  as  the  Psalmist  says  that  all  meti  are  liars , 
and  that  there  is  none  that  worketh  righteousness ,  no  not  one ,  it 
seems  to  me  that  one  cannot  fail  to  esteem  a  man  such  as  he  is. 
In  fact,  if  there  is  good  in  him,  it  is  to  be  attributed,  not  to  the 
creature  but  to  Him  who  is  the  principle  and  the  source  of  all  good. 
Most  people  deceive  themselves  in  giving  too  much  to  the  creature, 
or  in  too  much  esteeming  themselves.  And  that  you  may  not  sup¬ 
pose  it  impossible  to  find  extreme  concupiscence  under  an  extreme 
austerity,  1  will  relate  to  you  a  fact  which  happened  in  the  time 
of  King  Francis  I." 


NOVEL  XXII. 

A  prior  tries  every  means  to  seduce  a  nun,  but  at  last  his  villainy  is  discovered. 

HERE  was  at  St.  Martin-des-Champs,  at  Paris,  a  prior, 
whose  name  I  will  not  mention,  because  of  the  friend¬ 
ship  I  once  bore  him.  He  led  so  austere  a  life  until  the 

age  of  fifty,  and  the  fame  of  his  sanctity  was  so  strong 

throughout  the  kingdom,  that  there  was  no  prince  or  princess 
who  did  not  receive  him  with  veneration  when  he  paid  them  a 
visit.  No  monastic  reform  was  effected  in  which  he  had  not 
part  ;  and  he  received  the  name  of  the  “  Father  of  true  monas- 

ticism.”  He  was  elected  visitor  of  the  celebrated  society  of  the 


Ncvd  22.]  Third  Day .  i§i 

Ladies  of  Fontevrault,  who  were  in  so  much  awe  of  him  that 
when  he  came  to  any  of  their  convents  the  nuns  trembled  with 
fear,  and  treated  him  just  as  they  might  have  treated  the  king, 
hoping  thereby  to  soften  his  rigour  towards  them.  At  first,  he 
did  not  wish  that  such  deference  should  be  paid  him  ;  but  as  he 
approached  his  fifty-fifth  year,  he  at  last  came  to  like  the 
honours  he  had  refused  in  the  beginning;  and  coming  by 
degrees  to  regard  himself  as  the  public  property  of  the  religious 
societies,  he  was  more  careful  to  preserve  his  health  than  he  had 
been.  Though  he  was  bound  by  the  rules  of  his  order  never  to 
eat  meat,  he  granted  himself  a  dispensation  in  that  respect,  a 
thing  he  would  never  do  for  anyone  else,  alleging  as  his  reason 
that  the  whole  burden  of  the  brethren’s  spiritual  interests  rested 
upon  him.  Accordingly,  he  pampered  himself,  and  to  such  good 
purpose  that  from  being  a  very  lean  monk  he  became  a  very 
fat  one. 

With  the  change  in  his  manner  of  living  a  change  took  place 
in  his  heart  also,  and  he  began  to  look  at  faces  on  which  he  had 
before  made  it  matter  of  conscience  to  cast  his  eyes  casually. 
By  dint  of  looking  at  beauties,  rendered  more  desirable  by  their 
veils,  he  began  to  lust  after  them.  In  order  to  satisfy  his  unholy 
passion  he  changed  from  a  shepherd  into  a  wolf ;  and  if  he 
found  an  Agnes  in  any  of  the  convents  under  his  jurisdiction,  he 
failed  not  to  corrupt  her.  After  he  had  long  led  this  wicked  life, 
Divine  goodness,  taking  pity  on  the  poor  misused  sheep,  was 
pleased  to  unmask  the  villain,  as  you  shall  hear. 

He  had  gone  one  day  to  visit  a  convent  near  Paris  named  Gif, 
and  while  he  was  confessing  the  nuns,  there  came  before  him 
one  named  Sister  Marie  Herouet,  whose  sweet  and  pleasing 
voice  indicated  that  her  face  and  heart  were  not  less  so.  The 
mere  sound  inspired  the  good  father  with  a  passion  exceeding 
all  he  had  ever  felt  for  other  nuns.  In  speaking  to  her  he 
stooped  down  to  look  at  her,  and  seeing  her  mouth  so  rosy 
and  charming,  he  could  not  help  lifting  up  her  veil  to  satisfy 
himself  if  her  eyes  corresponded  to  the  beauty  of  her  lips.  He 
found  what  he  sought,  and  noted  it  so  well  that  his  heart  became 
filled  with  a  most  vehement  ardour  ;  he  lost  his  appetite  for  food 
and  drink,  and  even  all  countenance,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to 
dissemble.  On  his  return  to  his  priory  there  was  no  rest  for 
him.  He  passed  his  days  and  nights  in  extreme  disquietude, 
his  mind  continually  occupied  in  devising  means  to  gratify  his 
passion,  and  make  of  this  nun  what  he  had  made  of  so  many 
others.  As  he  had  observed  that  she  possessed  steadiness  of 


152  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

character  and  quickness  of  perception,  the  thing  appeared  to 
him  hard  to  accomplish.  Conscious,  moreover,  that  he  was 
ugly  and  old-looking,  he  resolved  not  to  attempt  to  win  her  by 
soft  words,  but  extort  from  her  by  fear  what  he  could  not  hope 
to  obtain  for  love. 

With  this  intention,  he  returned  a  few  days  after  to  the  con¬ 
vent  of  Gif,  and  displayed  more  austerity  there  than  ever  he  had 
done  before,  angrily  rating  all  the  nuns.  One  did  not  wear  her 
veil  low  enough  ;  another  carried  her  head  too  high  ;  another 
did  not  make  obeisance  properly  like  a  nun.  So  severe  was  he 
with  regard  to  all  these  trifles,  that  he  seemed  as  terrible  as  the 
picture  of  God  on  the  day  of  judgment.  Being  gouty,  he  was 
much  fatigued  in  visiting  all  the  parts  of  the  convent,  and  it  was 
about  the  hour  of  vespers  (an  hour  assigned  by  himself)  that  he 
reached  the  dormitory.  The  abbess  told  him  it  was  time  to  say 
vespers.  “  Have  them  said,  mother,”  replied  the  prior,  “  for  I 
am  so  tired  that  I  will  remain  here,  not  to  repose,  but  to  speak 
to  Sister  Marie  about  a  scandalous  thing  I  hear  of  her  ;  for  I  am 
told  that  she  babbles  like  a  worldling.”  The  prioress,  who  was 
aunt  to  Sister  Marie’s  mother,  begged  that  he  would  chapter  her 
soundly,  and  left  her  in  the  hands  of  the  prior,  quite  alone, 
except  that  a  young  monk  was  with  him. 

Left  alone  with  Sister  Marie,  he  began  by  lifting  up  her  veil, 
and  bidding  her  look  in  his  face.’  Sister  Marie  replied  that  her 
rule  forbade  her  to  look  at  men.  “  That  is  well  said,  my 
daughter,”  said  the  prior,  “but  you  are  not  to  believe  that 
monks  are  men.” 

For  fear,  then,  of  being  guilty  of  disobedience,  Sister  Marie 
looked  at  him,  and  thought  him  so  ugly  that  it  seemed  to  her 
more  a  penance  than  a  sin  to  look  at  him.  The  reverend  father, 
after  talking  of  the  love  he  bore  her,  wanted  to  put  his  hands  on 
her  breasts.  She  repulsed  him  as  she  ought  ;  and  the  reverend 
father,  vexed  at  so  untoward  a  beginning,  exclaimed  in  great  anger, 
“What  business  has  a  nun  to  know  that  she  has  breasts?” 

“  I  know  that  I  have,”  replied  Sister  Marie  ;  “  and  I  am  very 
certain  that  neither  you  nor  anyone  else  shall  ever  touch  them. 
1  am  neither  young  enough  nor  ignorant  enough  not  to  know 
what  is  a  sin  and  what  is  not  so.” 

Seeing,  then,  that  he  could  not  compass  his  designs  in  that 
way,  he  had  recourse  to  another  expedient,  and  said,  “  I  must 
declare  my  infirmity  to  you,  my  daughter.;  I  have  a  malady 
which  all  the  physicians  deem  incurable,  unless  I  delight  myself 
with  a  woman  whom  I  passionately  love.  I  would  not  for  my 


V 


Novel  22.  Third  Day.  153 

life  commit  a  mortal  sin  ;  but  even  should  it  come  to  that,  I 
know  that  simple  fornication  is  not  to  be  compared  to  the  sin 
of  homicide.  So  if  you  love  my  life,  you  will  hinder  me  from 
dying,  and  save  your  own  conscience.” 

She  asked  him  what  sort  of  diversion  it  was  that  he  contem¬ 
plated  ;  to  which  he  replied  that  she  might  rest  her  conscience 
on  his,  and  he  assured  her  that  he  would  do  nothing  which 
would  leave  any  weight  on  either.  To  let  her  judge  by  the  pre¬ 
liminaries  what  sort  of  pastime  it  was  he  asked  of  her,  he 
embraced  her  and  tried  to  throw  her  on  a  bed.  Making  no 
doubt  then  of  his  wicked  intention,  she  cried  out,  and  defended 
herself  so  well  that  he  could  only  touch  her  clothes.  Seeing, 
then,  that  all  his  devices  and  efforts  were  fruitless,  like — I  will 
not  say  a  madman,  but  like  a  man  without  conscience  or  reason, 
he  put  his  hand  under  her  robe,  and  scratched  all  that  came 
under  his  nails  with  such  fury  that  the  poor  girl,  shrieking  with 
all  her  might,  fell  in  a  faint.  The  abbess,  hearing  her  cries,  ran 
to  the  dormitory,  reproaching  herself  for  having  left  her  relation 
alone  with  the  reverend  father.  She  stood  for  a  moment  at  the 
door  to  listen,  but,  hearing  her  niece’s  voice,  she  pushed  open 
the  door,  which  was  held  by  the  young  monk.  When  she 
entered  the  dormitory,  the  prior,  pointing  to  her  niece,  said, 
“  You  did  wrong,  mother,  not  to  acquaint  me  with  Sister  Marie’s 
constitution  :  for,  not  knowing  her  weakness,  I  made  her  stand 
before  me,  and  while  I  was  reprimanding  her,  she  fainted  away, 
as  you  see.” 

Vinegar  and  other  remedies  being  applied,  Sister  Marie  re- 
coverrd  from  her  faint ;  and  the  prior,  fearing  lest  she  should 
tell  her  aunt  the  cause  of  it,  foundVneans  to  whisper  in  her  car, 
I  command  you,  my  daughter,  on  pain  of  disobedience  and 
eternal  damnation,  never  to  speak  of  what  I  have  done  to  you. 
It  was  my  great  love  for  you  that  made  me  do  it ;  but  since  I  see 
that  you  will  not  respond  to  my  passion,  I  will  never  mention  it 
to  you  while  I  live.  I  may,  however,  assure  you,  for  the  last 
time,  that  if  you  will  love  me  I  will  have  you  chosen  abbess  of 
one  of  the  best  abbeys  in  this  kingdom.” 

She  replied  that  she  would  rather  die  in  perpetual  imprison¬ 
ment  than  ever  have  any  other  friend  than  Him  who  had  died 
for  her  on  the  cross  ;  deeming  herself  happier  in  suffering  all 
ills  with  Him  than  in  enjoying  without  Him  all  the  pleasures 
the  world  can  afford.  She  warned  him  once  for  all  not  to  speak 
to  her  any  more  in  that  manner,  if  he  did  not  wish  her  to  com¬ 
plain  of  it  to  the  abbess;  but  if  he  desisted,  she  would  say 


154  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

nothing-  of  what  was  past.  Before  this  bad  shepherd  with¬ 
drew,  in  order  to  appear  quite  different  from  what  he  was  in 
reality,  and  to  have  the  pleasure  of  again  gazing  on  her  he  loved, 
he  turned  to  the  abbess  and  said,  “  I  beg,  mother,  that  you  will 
make  all  your  daughters  sing  a  Salve  Regma  in  honour  of  the 
Virgin,  in  whom  I  rest  my  hope.”  The  Salve  Regina  was  sung  ; 
and  all  the  while  the  fox  did  nothing  but  weep,  not  with  devotion, 
but  with  regret  at  having  so  ill  succeeded.  The  nuns,  who 
attributed  his  emotion  to  the  love  he  felt  for  the  Virgin  Mary, 
regarded  him  as  a  saint ;  but  Sister  Marie,  who  knew  his 
hypocrisy,  prayed  to  God  in  her  heart  to  confound  a  villain  who 
had  such  contempt  for  virginity. 

The  hypocrite  returned  to  St.  Martin’s,  carrying  with  him  the 
criminal  fire  which  consumed  him  day  and  night,  and  occupied 
his  mind  only  in  trying  to  find  means  for  accomplishing  his 
unrighteous  end.  Being  afraid  of  the  abbess,  whose  virtue  he 
was  aware  of,  he  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than  remove 
her  from  that  convent.  With  that  view,  he  went  to  Madame  de 
Vendome,  who  was  then  residing  at  La  F&re,  Adhere  she  had 
built  and  endowed  a  convent  of  the  order  of  St.  Benedict, 
named  Mont  d’Olivet.  In  his  professed  character  of  a  sovereign 
reformer,  he  represented  to  her  that  the  abbess  of  Mont  d’Olivet 
was  not  capable  of  governing  such  a  community.  The  good 
lady  begged  him  to  name  one  who  should  be  worthy  to  fill  that 
office.  This  was  just  what  he  wanted,  and  he  at  once  recom¬ 
mended  her  to  take  the  abbess  of  Gif,  whom  he  depicted  to  her 
as  the  abbess  of  the  greatest  capacity  in  France.  Madame  de 
Vendome  sent  for  her  forthwith,  and  gave  her  the  government  of 
her  convent  of  Mont  d’Olivet ;  whilst  the  prior,  who  commanded 
the  suffrages  of  all  the  communities,  had  one  who  was  devoted 
to  him  elected  abbess  of  Gif. 

This  being  done,  he  went  to  the  convent  to  try  once  more  if 
by  prayers  or  promises  he  could  prevail  over  Sister  Marie.  He 
succeeded  no  better  than  the  first  time,  and  returning  in  despair 
to  St.  Martin’s,  he  there  contrived  more  villany.  As  much  with 
a  view  to  accomplish  his  original  purpose  as  to  be  revenged  on 
the  uncomplying  nun,  and  for  fear  the  affair  should  obtain 
publicity,  he  had  the  relics  stolen  from  the  convent  of  Gif  by 
night,  accused  the  confessor  of  the  convent,  an  aged  and 
worthy  monk,  of  having  committed  the  theft,  and  imprisoned 
him  at  St.  Martin’s.  Whilst  he  kept  him  there  he  suborned  two 
witnesses,  who  deposed  that  they  had  seen  the  confessor  and 
Sister  Marie  committing  an  infamous  and  indecent  act  in  a 


V 


Novel  2 2. J  Third  Day .  155 

garden ;  and  this  he  wanted  to  make  the  old  monk  confess. 
The  good  man,  who  knew  all  the  prior’s  tricks,  begged  him  to 
assemble  the  chapter,  and  said  he  would  state  truly  all  he  knew 
in  presence  of  the  monks.  This  demand  he  look  care  not  to 
grant,  fearing  lest  the  confessor’s  justification  should  condemn 
himself ;  but  finding  the  latter  so  invincibly  steadfast,  he  treated 
him  so  ill  that  some  say  he  died  in  prison  ;  others  say  that  the 
prior  forced  him  to  unfrock  and  quit  the  realm.  Be  it  as  it  may, 
he  was  never  seen  afterwards. 

The  prior,  having,  as  he  thought,  such  a  great  hold  on  Sister 
Marie,  went  to  Git,  where  the  abbess  his  creature  never  disputed 
a  word  that  fell  from  his  lips.  He  began  by  exercising  his 
authority  as  visitor,  and  summoned  all  the  nuns  one  by  one, 
that  he  might  hear  them  in  chamber  in  form  of  confession  and 
visitation.  Sister  Marie,  who  had  lost  her  good  aunt,  having  at 
last  appeared  in  her  turn,  he  began  by  saying  to  her,  “  You 
knowr,  Sister  Marie,  of  what  a  crime  you  are  accused  ;  and 
consequently  you  know  that  the  great  chastity  you  affect  has 
availed  you  nothing,  for  it  is  very  well  known  that  you  are  any¬ 
thing  but  chaste.” 

“  Produce  my  accuser,”  replied  Sister  Marie,  undauntedly, 
“  and  you  will  see  how  he  will  maintain  such  a  statement  in  my 
presence.” 

“  The  confessor  himself  has  been  convicted  of  the  fact,  and 
that  must  be  proof  enough  for  you,”  returned  the  prior. 

“  I  believe  him  to  be  such  a  good  man,”  said  Sister  Marie, 
“  that  he  is  incapable  of  confessing  such  a  falsehood.  But  even 
should  he  have  done  so,  set  him  before  me  and  I  will  prove  the 
contrary.” 

The  prior,  seeing  she  was  not  daunted,  said,  “  I  am  your 
father,  and  as  such  I  wish  to  be  tender  with  your  honour ;  I 
leave  the  matter  between  you  and  your  conscience,  and  will 
believe  what  you  shall  tell  me.  I  conjure  you  then,  on  pain  of 
mortal  sin,  to  tell  me  the  truth.  Were  you  a  virgin  when  you 
entered  this  house  ?  ” 

“My  age  at  that  time,  father,  is  warrant  tor  my  virginity.  I 
was  then  but  five  years  old.” 

“  And  since  then,  my  daughter,  have  you  not  lost  that  fair 
flcwer  ?” 

She  swore  she  had  not,  and  that  she  had  never  undergone  any 
temptation  except  from  him. 

“I  cannot  believe  it,”  the  hypocrite  replied  ;  “it  remains  to 
be  proved.” 


156  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

"  What  proof  do  you  require  ?” 

“  That  which  I  exact  from  other  nuns.  As  I  am  the  visito! 
of  souls,  so  am  I  also  of  bodies.  Your  abbesses  and  prioresses 
have  all  passed  through  my  hands,  and  you  must  not  scruple  to 
let  me  examine  your  virginity.  Lay  yourself  on  that  bed,  and 
turn  the  front  of  your  robe  over  yot  r  face.” 

“  You  have  told  me  so  much  of  your  criminal  Jove  for  me,” 
replied  Sister  Marie,  indignantly,  “  that  I  have  reason  to  believe 
your  intention  is  not  so  much  to  examine  my  virginity  as  to 
despoil  me  of  it.  So  be  assured  I  will  never  consent.” 

“You  are  excommunicated,”  returned  the  prior,  “to  refuse 
obedience  ;  and  unless  you  do  as  I  bid  you,  I  will  dishonour 
you  in  full  chapter,  and  will  state  all  I  know  of  you  and  the 
confessor.” 

Sister  Marie,  without  suffering  herself  to  be  dismayed,  replied 
that  He  who  knew  the  hearts  of  his  servants  would  be  her  stay. 
“  And  since  you  carry  your  malevolence  so  far,”  she  said,  “  I 
would  rather  be  the  victim  of  your  cruelty  than  the  accomplice 
of  your  criminal  desires  ;  because  I  know  that  God  is  a  just 
judge.” 

In  a  rage  that  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than  described, 
the  prior  hurried  off  to  assemble  the  chapter.  Summoning  Sister 
Marie  before  him,  he  made  her  kneel,  and  thus  addressed  her: 
"  It  is  with  extreme  grief,  Sister  Marie,  that  I  see  how  the 
wholesome  remonstrances  which  I  have  addressed  to  you  on  so 
capital  a  fault  have  been  of  no  avail,  and  I  am  compelled  with 
regret  to  impose  a  penance  upon  you  contrary  to  my  custom. 

I  have  examined  your  confessor  touching  certain  crimes  of  which 
he  was  accused,  and  he  has  confessed  to  me  that  he  has  abused 
you,  and  that  in  a  place  where  two  witnesses  depose  to  having 
seen  you.  Instead,  then,  of  the  honourable  post  of  mistress  of 
the  novices  in  which  I  had  placed  you,  I  ordain  that  you  be  the 
lowest  of  all,  and  also  that  you  eat  your  diet  of  bread  and  water 
on  the  ground  in  the  presence  of  all  the  sisters,  until  you  shall 
have  merited  pardon  by  your  repentance.” 

Sister  Marir,  having  been  warned  beforehand,  by  one  of  her 
companions  who  knew  her  whole  affair,  that  if  she  made  any 
reply  which  was  displeasing  to  the  prior  he  would  put  her  in  pace , 
that  is,  immure  her  for  ever  in  a  cell,  heard  her  sentence  without 
saying  a  word,  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  praying  that  He 
who  had  given  her  the  grace  to  resist  sin,  would  give  her  the 
patience  necessary  to  endure  her  sufferings.  This  was  not  all, 
The  venerable  prior  further  prohibited  her  speaking  for  three 


V 


Novel  22.]  Third  Day.  157 

years  to  her  mother  or  her  relations,  or  writing  any  letter  except¬ 
ing  in  community. 

After  this  the  wretch  went  away  and  returned  no  more.  The 
poor  girl  remained  a  long  time  in  the  condition  prescribed  by  her 
sentence  ;  but  her  mother,  who  had  a  more  tender  affection  for 
her  than  for  her  other  children,  was  surprised  at  not  hearing 
from  her,  and  said  to  one  of  her  sons  that  she  believed  her 
daughter  was  dead,  and  that  the  nuns  concealed  her  death  in 
order  the  longer  to  enjoy  the  annual  payment  made  for  her 
maintenance.  She  begged  him  to  inquire  into  the  matter,  and 
see  his  sister,  if  it  were  possible.  The  brother  went  at  once  to 
the  convent,  was  answered  with  the  usual  excuses,  and  was  told 
that  for  three  years  his  sister  had  not  quitted  her  bed.  The 
young  man  would  not  be  put  off  with  that  reply,  and  swore  that 
unless  she  were  shown  to  him  he  would  scale  the  walls  and  break 
into  the  convent.  This  threat  so  alarmed  the  nuns  that  they 
brought  his  sister  to  the  grating  ;  but  the  abbess  followed  her 
so  closely,  that  she  could  not  speak  to  her  brother  without  being 
heard  by  the  good  mother.  But  Sister  Marie,  having  her  wits 
about  her,  had  taken  the  precaution  beforehand  to  write  down  all 
the  facts  I  have  related,  together  with  the  details  of  a  thousand 
other  stratagems  which  the  prior  had  employed  to  seduce  her, 
and  which,  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  I  omit. 

I  must  not,  however,  forget  to  mention  that,  whilst  her  aunt 
was  abbess,  the  prior,  fancying  it  was  on  account  of  his  ugliness 
he  was  repulsed,  caused  Sister  Marie  to  be  tempted  by  a  young 
and  handsome  monk,  hoping  that,  if  she  yielded  to  the  latter  for 
love,  he  himself  might  afterwards  have  his  will  of  her  through 
fear.  But  the  young  monk  having  accosted  her  in  a  garden, 
with  words  and  gestures  so  infamous  that  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  repeat  them,  the  poor  girl  ran  to  the  abbess,  who  was  talking 
with  the  prior,  and  cried  to  her,  “  Mother,  they  are  demons,  and 
not  monks,  who  come  to  visit  us/’  Upon  this  the  prior,  afraid  o( 
being  discovered,  said  to  the  abbess,  with  a  laugh,  “  Certainly 
mother,  Sister  Marie  is  right.”  He  then  took  her  band, 
and  said,  in  presence  of  the  abbess,  “  I  had  heard  that 
Sister  Marie  spoke  very  well,  and  with  such  facility  as  led  people 
to  believe  that  she  was  mundane.  For  this  reason  I  have  done 
violence  to  my  nature,  and  have  spoken  to  her  as  worldlings 
speak  to  women,  so  far  as  I  know  that  language  from  books  ;  for 
in  point  of  personal  experience  1  am  as  ignorant  as  I  was  the 
day  I  was  born.  And  as  I  attributed  her  virtue  to  my  age  and 
ugliness,  I  ordered  my  young  monk  to  speak  to  her  in  the  same 


158  The  Heptciineron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

tone.  She  has  made,  as  you  see,  a  sage  and  virtuous  resistance, 

I  am  pleased  with  her  for  it,  and  esteem  her  so  highly,  that 
henceforth  I  desire  that  she  be  the  first  after  you,  and  the 
mistress  of  the  novices,  in  order  that  her  virtue  may  be  fortified 
more  and  more.”  The  venerable  prior  did  many  feats  of  the 
same  sort  during  the  three  years  he  was  in  love  with  the  nun, 
who,  as  I  have  said,  gave  her  brother  a  written  narrative  of  her 
sad  adventures  through  the  grating. 

The  brother  carried  the  paper  to  his  mother,  who  hurried 
distractedly  to  Paris,  where  she  found  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 
only  sister  to  the  king,  and  laid  this  piteous  tale  before  her, 
saying,  “Put  no  more  trust,  madam,  in  these  hypocrites.  I 
thought  I  had  placed  my  daughter  on  the  outskirts  of  heaven, 
or  at  least  on  the  way  to  it  ;  but  I  find  I  have  placed  her  in 
hell,  and  in  the  hands  of  people  worse  than  all  the  devils  there  ; 
for  the  devils  tempt  us  only  so  far  as  we  are  ourselves  consent¬ 
ing  parties,  but  these  wretches  try  to  prevail  over  us  by  violence 
when  they  cannot  do  so  by  love.”  The  Queen  of  Navarre  was 
greatly  perplexed.  She  had  implicit  confidence  in  the  prior  of 
St.  Martin’s,  and  had  committed  to  his  charge  the  abbesses  of 
Montivilliers  and  of  Caen,  her  sisters-in-law.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  crime  appeared  to  her  so  black  and  horrible,  that  she 
longed  to  avenge  the  poor  innocent  girl,  and  communicated  the 
matter  to  the  king’s  chancellor,  who  was  then  legate  in  France.* 
The  legate  made  the  prior  appear  before  him,  and  all  that  the 
latter  could  allege  in  excuse  for  himself  was  that  he  was  seventy 
years  of  age.  He  appealed  to  the  Queen  of  Navarre,  beseech¬ 
ing,  by  all  the  pleasures  she  would  ever  wish  to  do  him,  and  as 
the  sole  recompense  of  his  past  services,  that  she  would  have  the 
goodness  to  put  a  stop  to  these  proceedings,  assuring  her  he 
would  avow  that  Sister  Marie  Herouet  was  a  pearl  of  honour 
and  chastity.  The  queen  was  so  astounded  at  this  speech,  that, 
not  knowing  how  to  reply  to  it,  she  turned  her  back  upon  him, 
and  left  him  there.  The  poor  monk,  overwhelmed  with  con¬ 
fusion,  retired  to  his  monastery,  where  he  never  more  would  let 
himself  be  seen  by  anybody,  and  died  a  year  afterwards.  Sister 
Marie  Herouet,  esteemed  as  the  virtues  God  had  given  her 
deserved,  was  taken  from  the  abbey  of  Gif,  where  she  had 
suffered  so  much,  and  was  made  by  the  king  abbess  of  the  abbey 
of  Giy,  near  Montargis.  She  reformed  the  abbey  which  his 

*  Antoine  Duprat,  cardinal-legate,  chancellor  of  France,  was  appointed 
legate  in  1530,  and  died  1535.  The  events  related  in  this  novel  must  have 
occurred  between  those  years. 


V 


Novel  2  2.*]  T*nrd  Day.  1 55 

majesty  had  given  her,  and  lived  like  a  saint,  animated  by  the 
spirit  of  God,  whom  she  praised  all  her  life  long  for  the  repose 
He  had  procured  her,  and  the  dignity  with  which  He  had 
invested  her.* 

There,  ladies,  is  a  story  which  well  confirms  what  St.  Paul 
says  to  the  Corinthians,  that  God  makes  use  of  weak  things  to 
confound  the  strong,  and  of  those  who  seem  useless  in  men’s  eyes 
to  overthrow  the  glory  and  splendour  of  those  who,  thinking 
themselves  something,  are  yet  in  reality  nothing.  There  is  no 
good  in  any  man  but  what  God  puts  into  him  by  His  grace  ;  and 
there  is  no  temptation  out  of  which  one  does  not  come  victorious, 
when  God  grants  aid.  You  see  this  by  the  confession  of  a  monk, 
who  was  believed  to  be  a  good  man,  and  by  the  elevation  of  a 
girl  whom  he  wished  to  exhibit  as  criminal  and  wicked.  In  this 
we  see  the  truth  of  our  Lord’s  saying,  that  “  He  that  exalteth 
himself  shall  be  humbled,  and  he  that  humbleth  himself  shall  be 
exalted.” 

“  How  many  worthy  people  this  monk  deceived  I  ”  said 
Oisille  ;  “  for  I  have  seen  how  they  trusted  in  him  more  than  in 
God.” 

“  I  should  not  have  been  one  of  those  he  deceived,”  said 
Nomerfide,  “  for  I  have  such  a  horror  of  the  very  sight  of  a  monk 
that  I  could  not  even  confess  to  them,  believing  them  to  be  worse 
than  all  other  men,  and  never  to  frequent  any  house  without 
leaving  in  it  some  shame  or  dissension.” 

“There  are  some  good  men  amongst  them,”  said  Oisille  ;  “and 
the  wickedness  of  an  individual  ought  not  to  be  imputed  to  the 
whole  body ;  but  the  best  are  those  who  least  frequent  secular 
houses  and  women.” 

“  That  is  very  well  said,”  observed  Ennasuite,  “  for  the  less 
one  sees  and  knows  them  the  better  one  esteems  them  ;  for  upon 
more  experience  one  comes  to  know  their  real  nature.” 

“  Let  us  leave  the  monastery  where  it  is,”  said  Nomerfide, 
‘and  see  to  whom  Geburon  will  give  his  voice.” 

“To  Madame  Oisille,”  replied  Geburon,  “  in  order  that  she 
may  tell  us  something  in  honour  of  the  regular  clergy.” 

“  We  have  pledged  ourselves  so  strongly  to  speak  the  truth,” 
replied  Oisille,  “  that  I  could  not  undertake  that  task.  Besides, 

*  The  prior  who  figures  in  this  novel  was  Etienne  Gentil,  who  became  prior 
in  1508,  and  died  in  1536.  The  abbey  of  St.  Martin-des-Champs  stood  on  tho 
site  now  occupied  by  the  Conservatoire  des  Arts  et  Metiers.  The  church  and 
the  refectory  are  still  standing 


i  So  The  Heptameron  of  Vie  Queen  of  Navarre . 

your  tale  reminded  me  of  a  piteous  one,  which  1  must  relate  to 
you,  as  I  come  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  country  where  the 
thing  occurred  in  my  own  time.  I  choose  this  story  of  recent 
date,  ladies,  in  order  that  the  hypocrisy  of  those  who  believe 
themselves  more  religious  than  others  may  not  so  beguile  you  as 
to  make  your  faith  quit  the  right  path,  and  induce  you  to  hope 
for  salvation  in  any  other  than  Him  who  will  have  no  companion 
in  the  work  of  our  creation  and  redemption.  He  alone  is 
almighty  to  save  us  in  eternity  and  to  comfort  us  in  this  life, 
and  deliver  us  out  of  all  our  afflictions.  You  know  that  Satan 
often  assumes  the  appearance  of  an  angel  of  light,  in  order  that 
the  eye,  deceived  by  the  semblance  of  sanctity  and  devotion,  may 
attach  itself  to  the  things  it  ought  to  shun.” 


NOVEL  XXIII. 

A  cordelier  who  was  the  cause  of  three  murders,  those  of  husband, 

wife,  and  child. 

N  Perigord,  there  dwelt  a  gentleman  whose  devotion 
to  St.  Francis  was  such  that  he  imagined  all  those  who 
wore  that  saint’s  habit  were,  as  a  matter  of  course,  as 
holy  as  the  sainted  founder  of  their  order.  In  honour 
of  that  good  saint  he  fitted  up  a  suite  of  apartments  in  his  house 
to  lodge  the  Franciscan  monks,  by  whose  advice  he  regulated  all 
his  affairs,  even  to  the  smallest  household  matters,  thinking  that 
he  could  not  but  walk  safely  when  he  followed  such  good  guides. 
It  happened  that  the  wife  of  this  gentleman,  a  handsome  lady, 
and  as  virtuous  as  she  was  handsome,  was  delivered  of  a  fine 
boy  ;  for  which  her  husband,  who  already  loved  her  much,  now 
regarded  her  with  redoubled  affection.  The  better  to  entertain 
his  wife,  the  gentleman  sent  for  one  of  his  brothers-in-law;  and 
a  Cordelier,  whose  name  I  shall  conceal  for  the  honour  of  the 
order,  arrived  also.  The  gentleman  was  very  glad  to  see  his 
spiritual  father,  from  whom  he  had  no  secrets  ;  and  after  a  long 
conversation  between  the  lady,  her  brother,  and  the  monk,  they 
all  sat  down  to  supper.  During  the  repast,  the  gentleman, 
looking  wistfully  at  his  lovely  wife,  said  aloud  to  the  good 
father,  “  Is  it  true,  father,  that  it  is  a  mortal  sin  to  be  with 
one’s  wife  during  the  month  of  her  confinement  ?  ,; 

The  Cordelier,  who  was  anything  but  what  he  seemed,  replied, 
“  Certainly,  sir  ;  I  think  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  sins  that  can  be 
committed  in  marriage.  I  need  only  refer  you  to  the  example  of 


V 


i6i 

the  blessed  Virgin,  who  would  not  enter  the  Temple  till  the  day 
of  her  purification,  though  she  had  no  need  of  that  ceremony. 
This  alone  should  teach  you  the  indispensable  necessity  of  ab¬ 
staining  from  this  little  pleasure,  since  the  good  Virgin  Mary, 
in  order  to  obey  the  law,  abstained  from  going  to  the  Temple,  in 
which  was  her  whole  consolation.  Besides,  the  physicians  say 
that  there  is  reason  to  fear  for  the  children  that  might  be 
begotten  under  such  circumstances.” 

The  gentleman,  who  had  expected  that  the  monk  would  give 
him  permission  to  lie  with  his  wife,  was  much  annoyed  at  a  reply 
so  contrary  to  his  hope  ;  however,  he  let  the  matter  drop.  The 
reverend  father  having  drunk  a  little  more  than  was  reasonable 
during  the  conversation,  cast  his  eyes  on  the  lady,  and  concluded 
within  himself  that  if  he  was  her  husband,  he  would  lie  with  hei 
without  asking  anyone;s  advice.  As  the  fire  kindles  little  by  little, 
and  at  last  waxes  so  strong  and  fierce  that  it  burns  down  the 
house,  so  the  poor  monk  felt  himself  possessed  with  such 
vehement  concupiscence,  that  he  resolved  all  at  once  to  satisfy 
the  desire  he  had  cherished  in  secret  for  three  years.  After  the 
supper-things  had  been  taken  away,  he  took  the  gentleman  by  the 
hand,  led  him  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  said  to  him,  in  the  pre¬ 
sence  of  his  wife,  “  Knowing,  sir,  as  I  do,  the  affection  that  sub¬ 
sists  between  you  and  mademoiselle,  I  compassionate  the  feelings 
with  which  your  great  youth  inspires  you  both.  Therefore  I  will 
impart  to  you  a  secret  of  our  holy  theology.  You  must  know, 
then,  that  the  law  which  is  so  rigorous  on  account  of  the  abuses 
committed  by  indiscreet  husbands,  is  not  so  strict  with  regard  to 
husbands  so  prudent  and  moderate  as  you.  Hence,  sir,  after 
having  stated  before  others  what  is  the  severity  of  the  law,  I 
must  tell  you  in  private  what  is  its  mildness.  Know,  then,  that 
there  are  women  and  women,  as  there  are  men  and  men.  Before 
all  things,  then,  it  is  necessary  that  mademoiselle,  who  has  been 
delivered  these  three  weeks,  should  tell  you  if  her  flux  of  blood 
has  quite  ceased.” 

The  demoiselle  replied  very  positively  that  it  had. 

“  That  being  the  case,  my  son,”  resumed  the  Cordelier,  “  I 
permit  you  to  lie  with  her  without  scruple,  on  these  two  con¬ 
ditions  :  first,  that  you  mention  it  to  no  one,  and  that  you  come 
to  her  secretly  ;  secondly,  that  you  do  not  come  to  her  until 
two  hours  after  midnight,  in  order  not  to  disturb  your  wife’s 
digestion.” 

The  gentleman  promised  to  observe  both  these  conditions,  and 
confirmed  his  promise  by  so  strong  an  oath  that  the  monk,  who 


tfjvel  23.] 


Third  Dav. 


1 62  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

knew  him  to  be  more  of  a  fool  than  a  liar,  did  not  doubt  that  he 
would  keep  his  word.  After  a  pretty  long  conversation,  he  bade 
them  good  night,  gave  them  plenty  of  benedictions,  and  retired 
to  his  chamber.  As  he  was  leaving  the  room,  he  took  the  gen¬ 
tleman  by  the  hand,  and  said,  “  Certes,  sir,  it  is  time  for  you  to 
retire  also,  and  leave  mademoiselle  to  repose.”  The  gentleman 
obeyed,  and  withdrew,  telling  his  wife,  in  the  good  father’s  pre- 
sence,  to  leave  the  door  open. 

On  reaching  his  chamber  the  good  monk  thought  of  anything 
but  sleeping.  As  soon  as  he  found  that  the  house  was  all  still, 
that  is  to  say,  about  the  hour  when  he  was  wont  to  go  to  matins, 
he  went  straight  to  the  chamber  where  the  gentleman  was  ex¬ 
pected.  He  found  the  door  open,  and  having  entered,  he  began 
by  putting  out  the  candle,  and  then  got  into  bed  to  the  lady  as 
fast  as  he  could.  “My  dear,  this  is  not  what  you  promised  the 
good  father,”  said  the  demoiselle,  who  mistook  him  for  her  hus¬ 
band  ;  “you  said  you  would  not  come  here  until  two  o’clock.” 
The  Cordelier,  who  was  more  intent  upon  action  than  on  con¬ 
templation,  and  was  afraid,  too,  of  being  recognised  if  he  spoke, 
made  no  reply,  but  proceeded  at  once  to  gratify  the  criminal 
passion  which  had  long  poisoned  his  heart  ;  whereat  the  demoi¬ 
selle  was  much  astonished.  The  hour  when  the  husband  was 
to  come  being  at  hand,  the  Cordelier  got  out  of  bed,  and 
returned  to  his  chamber ;  but  as  love  had  before  hindered  him 
from  sleeping,  so  now  the  fear  that  always  follows  crime  allowed 
him  no  repose.  He  got  up,  went  to  the  porter,  and  said,  “  My 
friend,  monsieur  has  commanded  me  to  go  back  at  once  to  our 
convent,  where  I  am  to  put  up  prayers  for  him.  So  pray  let  me 
have  my  beast,  and  open  the  door  for  me  without  letting  any¬ 
one  know,  for  this  business  requires  secrecy.”  The  porter,  know¬ 
ing  that  to  obey  the  Cordelier  was  to  serve  his  master,  opened 
the  gate  and  let  him  out. 

At  that  moment  the  gentleman  awoke,  and  seeing  that  it  was 
near  the  time  when  he  was  to  go  to  his  wife,  he  wrapped  his 
dressing-gown  about  him,  and  went  to  his  wife's  bed,  whither  he 
might  have  gone  in  accordance  with  God’s  law  without  asking 
leave  of  anyone.  His  wife  being  ignorant  of  what  had  occurred, 
and  finding  her  husband  beside  her,  and  hearing  his  voice,  said 
to  him,  in  surprise,  “  What,  sir  !  is  this  the  promise  you  made 
the  good  Cordelier,  that  you  would  be  cautious  of  your  health 
and  mine  ?  Not  content  with  having  come  hither  before  the 
time,  you  now  come  again.  Do  think  better  of  it,  I  entreat 
you.” 


V 


Novel  23.]  'Third  Day.  163 

Confounded  at  being  addressed  in  this  manner,  and  unable  to 
conceal  his  vexation,  the  husband  replied,  “  What  is  this  you 
say?  It  is  three  weeks  since  I  have  been  in  bed  with  you,  and 
you  accuse  me  of  coming  to  you  too  often.  If  you  continue  to 
talk  to  me  in  that  strain,  you  will  mal<e  me  believe  that  my 
company  is  distasteful  to  you,  and  constrain  me  to  do  what 
I  have  never  >et  done,  that  is,  to  seek  elsewhere  the  lawful 
pleasure  you  refuse  me.” 

The  lady,  who  thought  he  was  joking,  replied,  “Do  not  de¬ 
ceive  yourself,  sir,  in  thinking  to  deceive  me.  Though  you  did 
not  speak  to  me  the  first  time  you  came,  I  knew  very  well  that 
you  were  there.” 

The  gentleman  then  perceived  that  they  had  both  been  duped, 
and  solemnly  vowed  that  he  had  not  been  there  before  ;  and  the 
wife,  in  an  agony  of  grief,  begged  he  would  find  out  at  once  who 
it  could  be  that  had  deceived  her,  since  the  only  persons  who  had 
slept  in  the  house  were  her  broiher  and  the  Cordelier.  The  hus¬ 
band's  suspicions  falling  immediately  on  the  latter,  he  ran  to  his 
chamber,  and  found  it  empty,  To  make  sure  whether  or  not  he 
had  fled,  he  called  the  porter,  and  asked  if  he  knew  what  had  - 
become  of  the  Cordelier.  The  porter  told  him  what  had  passed, 
and  the  poor  gentleman,  convinced  of  the  monk’s  villainy,  went 
back  to  his  wife,  and  said,  “  Be  assured,  my  dear,  that  person 
who  lay  with  you  and  performed  such  feats  was  no  other  than 
our  father  confessor.” 

The  lady,  to  whom  honour  had  always  been  most  precious, 
was  so  horror-stricken,  that,  forgetting  all  humanity  and  the 
natural  gentleness  of  her  sex,  she  entreated  her  husband  on  her 
knees  to  revenge  her  for  such  a  cruel  outrage  ;  whereupon  he 
mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  off  in  pursuit  of  the  Cordelier.  The 
wife,  left  alone  in  her  bed,  without  anyone  to  counsel  her,  and 
without  any  consolation  except  her  new-born  babe,  pondered  over 
the  hideous  adventure  which  had  befallen  her,  and  making  nc 
account  of  her  ignorance,  regarded  herself  as  guilty,  and  as  the 
most  miserable  woman  in  the  world.  And  then,  having  never 
learned  anything  from  the  Cordelier  but  confidence  in  good 
works,  satisfaction  for  sins  by  austerity  of  life,  fasting,  and  disci¬ 
pline.  and  being  wholly  ignorant  of  the  grace  given  by  our  good 
God  through  the  merits  of  his  Son,  the  remission  of  sins  through 
his  blood,  the  reconciliation  of  the  Father  with  us  through  his 
death,  and  the  life  given  to  sinners  by  his  sole  goodness  and 
mercy,  she  was  so  bewildered  between  her  horror  at  the  enor¬ 
mity  of  the  deed  and  her  love  for  her  husband  and  the  honour  of 


r64  The  Hep  tamer  on  of  the  Queen  cf  Navarre. 

her  line,  that  she  thought  death  fir  happier  than  such  a  life  as 
hers.  Thus,  rendered  desperate  by  her  grief,  she  lost  not  only 
the  hope  which  every  Christian  ought  to  have  in  God,  but 
common  sense  too,  and  the  recollection  of  her  own  nature.  Not 
knowing,  then,  either  God  or  herself,  but,  on  the  con  rary,  full  of 
rage  and  madness,  she  undid  one  of  the  cords  of  her  bed,  and 
strangled  herself  with  her  own  hands.  In  the  agony  of  that 
painful  death,  amidst  the  last  violent  efforts  of  nature,  the  unfor¬ 
tunate  woman  pressed  her  foot  upon  her  infant’s  face,  and  its  inno¬ 
cence  could  not  secure  it  from  a  death  as  piteous  as  its  mother’s. 

Roused  by  a  great  cry  uttered  by  the  expiring  lady,  a  woman 
who  slept  in  her  room  got  up,  and  lighted  a  candle.  Seeing 
her  mistress  hanging  dead  by  the  bed-cord,  and  her  infant 
smothered  at  her  feet,  the  horrified  servant  went  to  the  bedroom 
of  the  deceased's  brother,  and  took  him  to  see  that  sad  spectacle. 
The  brother,  as  deeply  afflicted  as  a  man  would  naturally  be  who 
tenderly  loved  his  sister,  asked  the  servant  who  had  perpetrated 
such  a  crime.  She  could  not  tell  at  all  ;  the  only  thing  she 
could  say  was,  that  no  one  had  entered  the  room  but  her  master, 
who  had  quitted  it  but  a  moment  ago.  The  brother,  hurrying 
instantly  to  his  brother-in  law’s  chamber,  and  not  finding  him 
there,  was  firmly  persuaded  that  he  had  done  the  deed.  Mount¬ 
ing  his  horse  without  more  delay,  or  waiting  for  fuller  informa¬ 
tion,  he  rode  after  his  brother-in-law,  and  met  him  as  he  was 
returning  from  his  ineffectual  pursuit  of  the  Cordelier.  “  Defend 
yourself,  base  villain  1”  cried  the  brother-in-law  ;  “  I  trust  that 
God  will  revenge  me  with  this  sword  on  the  greatest  miscreant  on 
earth.”  The  husband  would  have  expostulated  ;  but  the  brother- 
in-law  pressed  him  so  hard,  that  all  he  could  do  was  to  defend 
himself,  without  knowing  what  was  the  cause  of  the  quarrel. 
They  dealt  each  other  so  many  wounds  that  they  were  compelled, 
by  loss  of  blood  and  weakness,  to  dismount  and  rest  a  little. 
While  they  were  taking  breath,  the  husband  said,  “  Let  me  at 
least  know,  brother,  why  the  friendship  we  have  always  had  for 
one  another  has  been  changed  into  such  rancorousfhatred  ?  ” 

“  Let  me  know  why  you  have  put  my  sister  to  death,  one  of 
the  best  women  that  ever  lived,”  replied  the  brother  ;  “  and  why, 
under  pretext  of  going  to  sleep  with  her,  you  have  hung  her  with 
the  bed-cord  ?  ” 

More  dead  than  alive  on  hearing  these  words,  the  poor  hus¬ 
band  faltered  out,  “'Is  it  possible,  brother,  that  you  found  your 
sister  in  the  state  you  say?”  Being  assured  that  this  was  the 
exact  truth,  “Pray,  brother,  listen  to  me,”  he  continued,  “and 


Novel  2 3.]  ,  Third  Day.  105 

you  shall  know  why  I  left  the  house.”  And  then  he  related  the 
adventure  of  the  Cordriier.  The  astonished  brother  now  bitterly 
repented  the  precipitation  with  which  he  had  acted,  and  earnestly 
implored  forgiveness.  “If  I  have  wronged  you,”  said  the  hus¬ 
band,  V  you  are  avenged  ;  for  I  am  wounded  beyond  hope  of 
recovery.”  The  brother- in  law  set  him  on  his  horse  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  led  him  back  to  his  own  house,  where  he  died  the 
next  day.  and  the  survivor  confessed  before  all  his  relations  and 
friends  that  he  was  the  cause  of  his  death. 

For  the  satisfaction  of  justice,  the  brother-in-law  was  advised 
to  go  and  solicit  his  pardon  ot  King  Francis  I.  To  this  end, 
after  having  honourably  interred  the  father,  mother,  and  child,  he 
set  out  one  Good  Friday,  to  solicit  his  pardon  at  court;  and  he 
obtained  it  through  the  favour  of  Francois  Olivier,  chancellor  ol 
Alengon,  afterwards,  in  consideration  of  his  great  endowments, 
chosen  by  the  king  to  be  chancellor  of  France. 

I  am  persuaded,  ladies,  that  after  this  story,  which  is  the  very 
truth,  there  is  not  one  of  you  but  will  think  twice  before  giving 
reception  to  such  guests.  Let  it  at  least  teach  you  that  the  more 
hidden  the  venom,  the  more  dangerous  it  is. 

“Surely,”  said  Hircan,  “this  husband  was  a  great  fool  to 
bring  such  a  gallant  to  sup  by  the  side  of  such  a  handsome  and 
virtuous  woman.” 

“  I  have  seen  the  time,”  said  Geburon,  “  when  there  was  not 
a  house  in  our  country  in  which  there  was  not  a  chamber  for  the 
good  fathers  ;  but  at  present  people  know  them  so  well  that  they 
are  more  feared  than  adventurers.” 

“  It  seems  to  me,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  a  woman  in  bed 
ought  never  to  let  monk  or  priest  into  her  room  except  to  ad¬ 
minister  to  her  the  sacraments  of  the  church  ;  and  for  my  part, 
when  I  summon  any  of  them  to  my  bedside,  it  may  be  taken  for 
a  sure  sign  that  I  am  very  far  gone.” 

“  If  everybody  was  as  austere  as  you,”  said  Ennasuite,  “the 
poor  clergy  would  no  longer  be  free  to  see  women  when  and 
where  they  pleased,  and  that  would  be  worse  to  them  than  ex¬ 
communication,” 

“Have  no  fear  on  their  account,”  said  Saffredent ;  “these 
worthies  will  never  want  for  women.” 

“  Is  not  this  too  bad  ?  ”  exclaimed  Simontault.  “It  is  they 
who  unite  us  with  our  wives  in  the  bonds  of  wedlock,  and  they 
have  the  wickedness  to  try  to  disunite  us,  and  make  us  break  the 
oath  they  have  imposed  upon  us.” 


166  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navart'e. 

“  It  is  a  pity,”  said  Oisille,  “that  they  who  have  the  adminis¬ 
tration  of  the  sacraments  make  light  of  them  in  this  manner. 
They  ought  to  be  burned  alive.” 

“  You  would  do  better  to  honour  them  than  to  blame  them,” 
replied  Saffredent,  “  and  to  flatter  instead  of  abusing  them,  for  it 
is  they  who  have  the  power  to  burn  and  dishonour  others,  there¬ 
fore,  let  them  alone ;  and  let  us  see,  whom  does  Oisille  call 
on?” 

“  On  Dagoucin,”  she  replied  ;  “  for  I  see  he  is  so  pensive  that 
it  strikes  me  he  must  have  something  good  at  the  tip  of  his 
tongue.” 

“Since  I  cannot  and  dare  not  say  what  I  think,”  said  Dagou¬ 
cin,  “at  least  I  will  speak  of  a  man  to  whom  cruelty  was  preju¬ 
dicial  and  afterwards  advantageous.  Although  love  has  such  a 
good  opinion  of  its  own  strength  and  potency  that  it  likes  to  show 
itself  quite  naked,  and  finds  it  extremely  irksome,  nay,  insup¬ 
portable  to  go  cloaked,  yet  those  who,  in  obedience  to  its  dictates, 
make  too  great  haste  to  disclose  themselves  often  suffer  for  it, 
as  happened  to  a  gentleman  of  Castile,  whose  story  I  shall  relate 
to  you.” 


NOVEL  XXIV. 

Device  of  a  Castilian  to  make  a  declaration  of  love  to  a  queen,  and  what 

came  of  it. 

HERE  was  at  the  court  of  a  king  and  queen  of  Castile, 
whose  names  history  does  not  mention,  a  gentleman  of 
such  good  birth  and  comely  person  that  his  equal  there 
was  not  in  all  Spain.  Everyone  held  his  endowments  in 
admiration,  but  still  more  his  eccentricity  ;  for  it  had  never  been 
perceived  that  he  loved  or  courted  any  lady,  though  there  were 
many  at  the  court  who  might  have  fiyd  ice  itself ;  but  there  was 
not  one  who  could  kindle  the  heart  of  Elisor,  for  so  this  gentleman 
was  named.  The  queen,  who  was  a  woman  of  great  virtue,  but  a 
woman  nevertheless,  and  not  more  exempt  than  the  rest  of  her  sex 
from  that  flame  which  is  the  more  violent  the  more  it  is  compressed 
—  the  queen,  1  say,  surprised  that  this  gentleman  did  not  attach 
himself  to  any  of  her  ladies,  asked  him  one  day  if  it  was  true 
that  he  was  as  indifferent  as  he  appeared.  He  replied,  that  if 
she  saw  his  heart  as  she  saw  his  face,  she  would  not  have  asked 
him  that  question.  Eager  to  know  what  he  meant,  she  pressed 
him  so  hard  that  he  confessed  he  loved  a  lady  whom  he  believed 
to  be  the  most  virtuous  in  all  Christendom.  She  did  all  she 


Novel  24.]  Third  Day .  167 

could  by  entreaties  and  commands  to  make  him  say  who  the  lady 
was,  but  all  to  no  purpo>e  ;  till  at  last  she  pretended  to  be  most 
deeply  incensed  against  him,  and  swore  that  she  would  never 
speak  to  him  again  if  he  did  not  name  the  lady  he  loved  so 
passionately.  To  escape  from  her  importunities,  he  was  forced 
to  say  that  he  would  rather  die  than  do  what  she  required  of 
him  ;  but  at  last,  finding  that  he  was  about  to  be  deprived  of 
the  honour  of  seeing  her,  and  to  be  cast  out  of  her  favour  for  not 
declaring  a  truth  in  itself  so  seemly  that  no  one  could  take  it  in 
bad  part,  he  said  to  her,  trembling  with  emotion,  “  I  cannot  and 
dare  not,  madam,  name  the  person  ;  but  I  will  show  her  to  you 
the  first  time  we  go  to  the  chase  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  you  will 
say,  as  well  as  I,  that  she  is  the  most  beautiful  and  most  accom¬ 
plished  lady  in  the  world.” 

After  this  reply,  the  queen  went  to  the  chase  sooner  than  she 
would  otherwise  have  done.  Elisor  had  notice  of  this,  and  pre¬ 
pared  to  wait  on  her  majesty  as  usual.  He  had  got  made  for 
himself  a  great  steel  mirror  in  the  shape  of  a  corslet,  and  this  he 
placed  on  his  chest,  concealed  beneath  a  mantle  of  black  frieze, 
all  bordered  with  purl  and  gold.  He  rode  a  back  horse,  very 
richly  caparisoned.  His  harness  was  all  giided  and  enamelled 
black  in  the  Moorish  fashion,  and  his  black  silk  hat  had  a 
buckle  adorned  with  precious  stones,  and  having  in  the  centre, 
for  a  device,  a  Love  concealed  by  Force.  His  sword,  poniard, 
and  the  devices  upon  them,  corresponded  to  the  rest  ;  in  short,  he 
was  admirably  accoutred  ;  and  he  was  such  a  good  horseman 
that  all  who  siw  him  neglected  the  pleasures  of  the  chase  to  see 
the  paces  and  the  leaps  which  Elisor  made  his  horse  perform. 
After  escorting  the  queen  to  the  place  where  the  toils  were 
spread,  he  alighted  and  went  to  aid  her  majesty  to  dismount.  At 
the  moment  she  held  out  her  arms  he  opened  his  cloak,  which 
covered  his  new  cuirass,  and  said,  “  Be  pleased,  madam,  to  look 
h?re  ;  ”  and  without  awaiting  her  reply  he  set  her  gently  on  the 
ground. 

When  the  chase  was  ended,  the  queen  returned  to  the  palace 
without  speaking  to  Elisor.  After  supper  she  called  him  to  her, 
and  told  him  he  was  the  greatest  liar  she  had  ever  seen,  for  he 
had  promised  to  show  her  at  the  chase  the  lady  of  his  love,  and 
yet  he  had  done  no  such  thing  ;  but  for  her  part,  she  was  re¬ 
solved  for  the  future  to  make  no  account  of  him.  Elisor,  fearing 
that  the  queen  had  not  understood  what  he  had  said  to  her, 
replied  that  he  had  kept  his  word,  and  that  he  had  shown  her 
not  only  the  woman,  but  also  that  thing  in  all  the  world  which 


1 68  TJie  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

he  loved  best.  Affecting  ignorance  of  his  meaning,  she  declared 
she  was  not  aware  that  he  had  shown  her  any  of  the  ladies. 
“  That  is  true,”  replied  Elisor;  “  but  what  did  I  show  you  when 
you  demounted  from  your  horse  ?  ” 

“Nothing,”  said  the  queen,  “but  a  mirror  you  had  on  your 
chest.” 

“  And  what  did  you  see  in  the  mirror?  ” 

“  Nothing  but  myself.” 

“  Consequently,  madam,  I  have  kept  my  word  and  obeyed  you. 
Never  did  anything  enter  my  heart  but  that  which  you  saw  when 
you  looked  at  my  chest.  She  who  was  there  pictured  is  the  only 
one  whom  l  love,  revere,  and  adore,  not  as  a  woman  merely,  but 
as  an  earthly  divinity,  on  whom  my  life  and  death  depend.  The 
only  favour  I  ask  of  you,  madam,  is  that  the  perfect  passion, 
which  has  been  life  to  me  whilst  concealed  may  not  be  my 
death  now  that  I  have  declared  it.  If  I  am  worthy  that  you 
should  regard  me  and  receive  me  as  your  most  impassioned  ser¬ 
vant,  suffer  me  at  least  to  live,  as  I  have  hitherto  done,  upon  the 
blissful  consciousness  that  I  have  dared  to  give  my  heart  to  a 
being  so  perfect,  and  so  worthy  of  all  honour,  that  I  must  be 
content  to  love  her,  though  I  can  never  hope  to  be  loved  in 
return.  If  the  knowledge  you  now  possess  of  my  intense  love 
does  not  render  me  more  agreeable  to  your  eyes  than  heretofore, 
at  least  do  not  deprive  me  of  life,  which  for  me  consists  in  the 
bliss  of  seeing  you  as  usual.  I  now  receive  from  you  no  other 
favour  than  that  which  is  absolutely  necessary  for  my  existence. 
If  I  have  less  you  will  have  a  servant  the  less,  and  will  lose  the 
best  and  most  affectionate  one  you  have  ever  had  or  ever  will 
have.” 

The  queen,  whether  it  was  that  she  might  appear  other  than 
she  really  was,  or  that  she  might  put  his  love  for  her  to  a  longer 
proof,  or  that  she  loved  another  whom  she  would  not  forsake  for 
him,  or,  lastly,  that  she  was  glad  to  have  this  lover  in  reserve  in 
case  her  heart  should  become  vacant  through  any  fault  which 
might  possibly  be  committed  by  him  whom  she  loved  already, 
said  to  him,  in  a  tone  which  expressed  neither  anger  nor  satisfac¬ 
tion,  “  I  will  not  ask  you,  Elisor,  although  I  know  not  the  powet 
of  love,  how  you  can  have  been  so  presumptuous  and  so  extrava* 
gant  as  to  love  me  ;  for  I  know  that  the  heart  of  man  is  so  little 
at  his  own  command  that  one  cannot  love  or  hate  as  one 
chooses.  But  since  you  have  so  well  concealed  your  feelings,  I 
desire  to  know  how  long  you  have  entertained  them  ?” 

Elisor,  looking  in  her  beautiful  face,  and  hearing  her  inquire 


Novel  24.]  Third  Day .  169 

about  his  malady,  was  not  without  hopes  that  she  would  afford 
him  some  relief  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  seeing  theself-command 
and  the  gravity  with  which  she  questioned  him,  he  feared  he  had 
to  do  with  a  judge  who  was  about  to  pronounce  sentence  against 
him.  Notwithstanding  this  fluctuation  between  hope  and  fear, 
he  protested  that  he  had  loved  her  since  her  early  youth  ;  but 
that  it  was  only  within  the  last  seven  years  he  had  been  con¬ 
scious  of  his  pain,  or  rather  of  a  malady  so  agreeable  that  he 
would  rather  die  than  be  cured. 

“  Since  you  have  been  constant  for  seven  years,”  said  the 
queen,  “  I  must  be  no  more  precipitate  in  believing  you  than 
you  have  been  in  declaring  your  love  to  me.  Therefore,  if  you 
speak  the  truth,  I  wish  to  convince  myself  of  it  in  a  manner 
that  shall  leave  no  room  for  doubt ;  and  if  I  am  satisfied  with 
the  result  of  the  trial,  I  will  believe  you  to  be  such  towards  me 
as  you  swear  that  you  are  ;  and  then,  when  I  find  you  to  be 
indeed  what  you  say,  you  shall  find  me  to  be  what  you  wish.” 

Elisor  besought  her  to  put  him  to  any  proof  she  pleased,  there 
being  nothing  so  hard  that  would  not  appear  to  him  very  easy, 
in  the  hope  that  he  might  be  happy  enough  to  convince  her  of 
the  perfect  love  he  bore  her.  He  only  waited,  he  said,  to  be 
honoured  with  her  commands. 

“  If  you  love  me,  Elisor,  as  much  as  you  say,”  replied  the 
queen,  “  I  am  sure  that  nothing  will  seem  hard  to  you  to  obtain 
my  good  graces  ;  so  I  command  you,  by  the  desire  you  have  of 
possessing  them,  and  the  fear  of  losing  them,  that  to-morrow, 
without  seeing  me  more,  you  quit  the  court  and  go  to  a  place 
where  for  seven  years  you  shall  hear  nothing  of  me,  nor  I  of  you. 
You  know  well  that  you  love  me,  since  you  have  had  seven  years* 
experience  of  the  fact.  When  I  shall  have  a  similar  seven  years’ 
experience,  I  shall  believe  what  all  your  protestations  would  fail 
tc  assure  me  of.” 

This  cruel  command  made  Elisor  believe  at  first  that  her  in¬ 
tention  was  to  get  rid  of  him  ;  but,  upon  second  thoughts,  he 
accepted  the  condition,  hoping  that  the  proof  would  do  more  for 
him  than  all  the  words  he  could  utter.  “  If  I  have  lived  seven 
years  without  any  hope,”  he  said,  “  under  the  painful  necessity  of 
dissembling  my  love,  now  that  it  is  known  to  you,  and  that  I 
have  some  gleam  of  hope,  I  shall  pass  the  other  seven  years 
with  patience  and  calmness.  But,  madam,  since  in  obeying  the 
command  you  impose  upon  me  I  am  deprived  of  all  the  joy  I  have 
ever  had  in  the  world,  what  hope  do  you  give  me  that,  at  the  end 
of  seven  years,  you  will  own  me  for  your  faithful  servant?” 


170  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

Drawing  a  ring  off  her  finger,  “  Let  us  cut  this  ring  in  two,” 
said  the  queen  ;  ••  I  will  keep  one  half  and  you  the  other,  in 
order  that  I  may  recognise  you  by  that  token,  in  case  length  ol 
time  makes  me  forget  your  face.” 

Elisor  took  the  ring,  divided  it  in  two,  gave  the  queen  one 
half,  and  kept  the  other.  Then  taking  leave  of  her,  more  dead 
than  those  who  have  already  given  up  the  ghost,  he  went  home 
to  give  orders  for  his  departure.  Sending  his  whole  retinue  to 
the  country,  he  went  away  with  only  one  attendant  to  a  place  so 
lonely  and  sequestered  that  none  of  his  relations  and  friends  had 
any  tidings  of  him  for  seven  years.  How  he  lived  during  that 
time,  and  what  sorrow  absence  made  him  endure,  are  things 
beyond  my  telling  ;  but  those  who  love  can  be  at  no  loss  to  con¬ 
ceive  them. 

Precisely  at  the  end  of  seven  years,  and  at  the  moment  when 
the  queen  was  going  to  mass,  a  hermit  with  a  long  beard  came 
to  her,  kissed  her  hand,  and  presented  to  her  a  petition,  which 
she  did  not  peruse  at  once,  though  her  custom  was  to  receive  all 
the  petitions  that  were  presented  to  her,  however  poor  were  the 
people  who  preferred  them.  When  mass  was  half  said,  she  opened 
the  petition,  and  found  enclosed  in  it  the  half  of  the  ring  she  had 
given  to  Elisor.  This  was  an  agreeable  surprise  for  her,  and 
before  she  read  the  paper,  she  ordered  her  almoner  to  bring  her 
straightway  the  hermit  who  had  presented  the  petition.  The 
almoner  sought  for  him  in  all  directions,  but  all  he  could  learn 
was  that  he  had  been  seen  to  mount  and  ride  away,  but  no  one 
could  tell  which  way  he  had  gone.  While  awaiting  the  return 
of  her  almoner,  the  queen  read  the  petition,  which  turned  out  to 
be  a  letter,  composed  in  the  best  possible  manner,  and,  but  for 
the  desire  I  feel  to  make  it  intelligible  to  you,  I  should  never 
have  ventured  to  translate  it  ;  for  I  must  beg  you  to  understand, 
ladies,  that  the  Castilian  is  better  adapted  than  the  French 
tongue  to  express  the  emotions  of  love.  The  letter  was  as 
follows  : 

“Time,  a  mighty  teacher,  gave  me  perfectly  to  know  the 
nature  of  love.  Time  was  afterwards  assigned  me,  that  the  in¬ 
credulous  one  might  see  by  my  protracted  woe  what  love  could 

not  convince  her  of.  Time  hath  shown  me  on  what  foundation 

. 

my  heart  built  its  great  love.  That  foundation  was  your  beauty, 
which  concealed  great  cruelty.  Time  teaches  me  that  beauty  is 
nothing,  and  that  cruelty  is  the  cause  of  my  weal.  Exiled  by 
the  beauty  whose  regards  I  so  yearned  for,  I  have  come  to  be 
more  conscious  of  your  extreme  ujikindness.  I  obey  ycur  cruel 


Novel  24.]  Third  Day.  r  7  r 

order,  however,  and  am  perfectly  content  to  do  so  ;  for  time  has 
had  such  pity  on  me  that  I  have  wished  to  return  to  this  place 
to  bid  you,  not  a  good  day,  but  a  last  farewell.  Time  has  shown 
me  love  just  as  it  is,  poor  and  naked  ;  and  I  have  no  sense  of  it 
except  regret.  But  time  has  likewise  shown  me  the  true  love, 
which  I  have  known  only  in  that  solitude  where  for  seven  years 
I  have  been  doomed  to  mourn  in  silence.  Through  time  I  have 
come  to  know  the  love  that  dwells  on  high,  at  sight  of  which 
the  other  love  vanishes,  and  I  have  given  myself  wholly  to  the 
one,  and  weaned  my  affections  from  the  other.  To  that  better 
love  I  devote  my  heart  and  my  body,  to  do  suit  and  service  to  it, 
and  not  to  you.  When  I  served  you,  you  esteemed  me  nothing. 
I  now  give  you  back  entirely  the  love  you  put  into  my  heart, 
having  no  need  either  of  it  or  you.  I  take  my  leave  of  cruelty, 
pain,  torment,  scorn,  hatred,  and  the  burning  fire  with  which 
you  are  filled,  no  less  than  you  are  adorned  with  beauty.  I 
cannot  better  bid  farewell  to  all  woes  and  pains  and  intolerable 
distresses,  and  to  the  hell  of  the  amorous  woman,  than  in  bidding 
farewell  to  you,  madam,  without  the  least  prospect  that, 
wherever  you  or  I  may  be,  we  shall  ever  look  upon  each  other 
more.,, 

This  letter  was  not  read  without  tears  and  incredible  surprise 
and  regret.  Indeed,  the  queen  could  not  but  feel  so  keenly  the 
loss  of  a  servant  who  loved  her  so  perfectly,  that  not  all  her 
treasures,  nor  even  her  crown,  could  hinder  her  from  being  the 
poorest  and  most  miserable  princess  in  the  world,  since  she  had 
lost  that  which  no  wealth  could  replace,  After  hearing  mass, 
she  returned  to  her  chamber,  where  she  gave  utterance  to  the 
lamentations  her  cruelty  had  merited.  There  was  no  mountain, 
rock,  or  forest  to  which  she  did  not  send  in  quest  of  the  hermit ; 
but  he  who  had  taken  him  out  of  her  hands  hindered  him  from 
falling  into  them  again,  and  removed  him  to  Paradise  before 
she  could  discover  his  retreat  in  this  world. 

This  example  shows  that  no  one  can  tell  what  can  do  him 
harm  only  and  no  good.  Still  less,  ladies,  should  you  carry  dis¬ 
trust  and  incredulity  so  far  as  to  lose  your  lovers  through  de¬ 
siring  to  put  them  to  too  severe  a  proof. 

“All  my  life  long,  Dagoucin,”  said  Geburon,  “I  have  neard 
the  lady  in  question  spoken  of  as  the  most  virtuous  woman  in 
Ihe  world  ;  but  now  I  regard  her  as  the  most  cruel  that  ever 
lived.” 

«*  It  seems  to  me,  however,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  she  did 


I72  The  HeptameroJi  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

him  no  such  great  wrong,  if  he  loved  her  as  much  as  he  said, 
in  exacting  from  him  seven  years  of  trial.  Men  are  so  ac¬ 
customed  to  lie  on  these  occasions,  that  one  cannot  take  too 
many  precautions  before  trusting  them — if  they  are  ever  to  be 
trusted.” 

“The  ladies  of  our  day,”  said  Hircan,  “are  wiser  than  those 
of  times  past ;  for  in  seven  days’  trial  they  are  as  sure  with  re¬ 
gard  to  a  lover  as  others  were  in  seven  years.” 

“  Yet  are  there  those  in  company,”  said  Longarine,  “who  have 
been  wooed  for  seven  years  without  ever  being  won.’" 

“That  is  true,”  said  Simontault  ;  “but  with  your  leave  they 
ought  to  be  classed  with  the  ladies  of  bygone  times,  for  in  the 
modern  class  they  would  not  be  received.” 

“  After  all,”  said  Oisille,  “Elisor  was  greatly  indebted  to  the 
queen,  since  she  was  the  cause  of  giving  his  heart  entirely  to  God.” 

“It  was  great  luck  for  him,”  said  Saffredent,  “to  find  God 
in  his  way  ;  for,  crossed  as  he  was,  I  wonder  he  did  not  give 
himself  to  the  devil.” 

“  When  your  lady  ill-used  you,”  inquired  Ennasuite,  “  did 
you  give  yourself  to  such  a  master  ?  ” 

“Thousands  of  times;  but  the  devil  would  never  take  me, 
seeing  that  the  tortures  of  hell  were  less  than  those  she  made 
me  suffer,  and  that  there  is  no  devil  more  insupportable  than 
a  woman  who  is  passionately  loved  and  will  not  love  in  return.” 

“  If  I  was  in  your  place,  and  entertained  such  sentiments,”  said 
Parlamente,  “  I  would  never  love  a  woman.” 

“  Such  has  always  been  my  unfortunate  propensity,”  replied 
Saffredent,  “that  when  I  cannot  command  1  think  myself  very 
happy  in  being  able  to  serve.  But  tell  me  pray,  in  conscience, 
now,  do  you  applaud  this  princess  for  such  excessive  rigour?” 

“Yes,”  said  Oisille,  “for  I  believe  she  did  not  choose  either 
to  love  or  be  loved.” 

“That  being  the  case,”  said  Simontault,  “why  give  him 
hopes  after  seven  years  should  have  passed  ?  ” 

“You  are  right,”  said  Longarine;  “and  I  think  that  ladies 
who  do  not  choose  to  love  should  cut  the  matter  short  at  once, 
and  hold  out  no  hopes  to  their  suitors.” 

“Perhaps,”  said  Nomerfide,  “she  loved  another  who  wras 
not  so  worthy  as  Elisor,  and  preferred  the  worse  man  to  the 
better.” 

“  It  is  my  belief,”  said  Saffredent,  “  that  she  was  glad  to  keep 
him  in  play,  that  she  might  have  him  ready  to  her  hand  when¬ 
ever  she  cast  off  the  lover  she  then  preferred  to  him.” 


Novel  25.]  Third  Day .  173 

“  I  see  plainly, '  said  Oisilie,  “  that  as*  long  as  the  conversation 
runs  upon  this  topic,  those  who  do  not  like  to  be  treated  harshly 
will  say  everything  bad  they  can  of  us  ;  so  be  pleased,  Dagoucin, 
to  give  your  voice  to  some  one.” 

“I  give  it  to  Longarine  ”  said  he,  “being  assured  that  she 
will  tell  us  something  novel,  and  speak  the  very  truth  without 
sparing  either  men  or  women.” 

“Since  you  have  such  a  good  opinion  of  my  sincerity,”  said 
Longarine,  “  I  will  relate  an  anecdote  of  a  great  prince  who 
surpassed  in  endowments  all  the  princes  of  his  time.  Permit 
me  also  to  remark,  that  falsehood  and  dissimulation  are  things 
which  should  be  least  of  all  used,  unless  in  a  case  of  extreme 
necessity.  They  are  very  ugly  and  disgraceful  vices,  especially 
in  princes  and  great  lords,  whom  truth  becomes  still  more  than 
other  men.  But  there  is  no  prince  in  the  world,  however 
glorious  or  rich  he  may  be,  who  does  not  acknowledge  the 
empire  of  love,  and  submit  to  its  tyranny.  Indeed,  that  arro¬ 
gant  god  disdains  all  that  is  common,  and  delights  only  in 
working  miracles  every  day,  such  as  weakening  the  strong, 
strengthening  the  weak,  making  fools  of  the  wise,  and  knowing 
persons  of  the  ignorant,  favouring  the  passions,  destroying  reason, 
and,  in  a  word,  turning  everything  topsy-turvy.  As  princes  arc 
not  exempt  from  it,  no  more  so  are  they  from  the  necessity  in 
which  they  are  put  by  the  desire  of  amorous  servitude.  1  hence 
it  comes  that  they  are  forced  to  use  falsehood,  hypocrisy,  and 
feigning,  which,  according  to  Maitre  Jean  de  Meun,  are  means 
for  vanquishing  enemies.  Though  conduct  of  this  nature  is 
laudable  in  a  prince,  though  it  be  censurable  in  all  other  men, 
I  will  recount  to  you  the  device  employed  by  a  young  prince 
who  tricked  those  who  are  used  to  trick  all  the  world.” 


NOVEL  XXV. 

Cunning  contrivance  of  a  young  prince  to  enjoy  the  wife  of  an  advocate  of  Paris. 

MONO  the  advocates  in  Paris,  there  was  one  who  was 
more  esteemed  than  any  nine  others  in  his  profession  ; 
and  his  knowledge  and  ability  made  him  sought  by 
all  clients,  he  became  the  richest  of  all  the  men  of  the 
gown.  Now,  seeing  that  he  had  no  children  by  his  first  wife,  he 
thought  he  should  have  some  by  a  second  ;  for  though  he  was  old, 
he  had,  nevertheless,  the  heart  and  the  hope  of  a  young  man.  He 


1 74  1 he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

made  choice  of  a  Parisian  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  very  handsome  in 
face  and  complexion,  and  handsomer  still  in  figure  and  plumpness. 
He  loved  her  and  treated  her  as  well  as  possible;  but  he  had  no 
children  by  her  any  more  than  by  his  first  wife  ;  which  the  fail 
one  at  last  took  sorely  to  heart.  As  youth  cannot  carry  the  burden 
of  care  very  far,  the  advocate’s  young  wife  resolved  to  seek  else¬ 
where  the  pleasure  she  did  not  find  at  home,  and  used  to  go  to 
balls  and  feasts  ;  but  this  she  did,  nevertheless,  with  such  out¬ 
ward  propriety,  and  so  much  caution,  that  her  husband  could 
not  take  offence,  for  she  was  always  with  those  ladies  in  whom 
he  had  most  confidence. 

One  day,  when  she  was  at  a  wedding  entertainment,  there 
happened  to  be  present  a  young  prince,  who  told  me  the  story, 
and  forbade  me  to  name  him.  All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  there 
never  was,  and  never  will  be,  I  think,  a  prince  in  France  of  finer 
person  and  demeanour.  The  eyes  and  ihe  countenance  of  the 
advocate’s  lady  inspired  the  prince  with  love.  He  spoke  to  her 
so  well,  and  with  such  grace,  that  she  took  pleasure  in  his  dis¬ 
course,  and  ingenuously  owned  to  him  that  she  had  long  had  in 
her  heart  the  love  for  which  he  craved,  and  begged  he  would 
spare  himself  the  pains  of  trying  to  persuade  her  to  a  thing  to 
which  love  had  already  made  her  consent  at  mere  sight.  The 
frankness  of  love  having  bestowed  on  the  prince  what  was  well 
worth  the  pains  of  being  won  by  time,  he  tailed  not  to  thank  the 
god  who  favoured  him  ;  and  he  plied  his  oppirtunity  so  well, 
that  they  agreed  there  and  then  upon  the  means  of  seeing  each 
other  in  less  crowded  company.  The  time  and  the  place  being 
assigned,  the  prince  appeared  punctually,  but  in  disguise,  that 
he  might  not  compromise  the  honour  of  the  fair  one,  As  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  known  by  the  rogues  and  thieves  who  roam  by 
night,  he  had  himself  escorted  by  some  trusty  gentlemen,  from 
whom  he  separated  on  entering  the  street  where  the  lady  resided, 
saying  to  them,  “  If  you  hear  no  noise  within  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  go  away,  and  return  about  three  or  four  o’clock.”  The 
quarter  of  an  hour  having  expired,  and  no  noise  having  been 
heard,  the  gentlemen  withdrew. 

The  prince  went  straight  to  the  advocate’s  house,  and  .found 
the  door  open  as  he  had  beeq  promised,  but  on  going  up  the 
staircase  he  met  the  advocate  with  a  candle  in  his  hand,  who 
saw  him  first.  Love,  however,  which  gives  wit  and  boldness 
in  proportion  to  the  crossings  and  thwartings  it  occasions, 
prompted  the  prince  to  go  up  at  once  to  the  advocate  and  say  tG 
him,  “You  know,  master  advocate,  the  confidence  which  I  an d 


Novel  25.]  Third  Bay.  175 

all  my  house  repose  in  you,  and  that  I  regard  you  as  one  of  my 
best  and  most  faithtul  servants.  I  am  come  to  see  you  privately, 
as  well  to  recommend  my  affairs  to  you  as  to  beg  you  will  give 
me  something  to  drink,  for  I  am  very  thirsty,  and  not  let  anybody 
know  that  I  have  been  here.  When  I  quit  you  I  shall  have  to 
go  to  another  place,  where  I  should  not  like  to  be  known.” 

The  poor  man,  delighted  with  the  honour  the  prince  did  him 
by  this  familiar  visit,  begged  him  to  enter  his  room,  and  told  his 
wife  to  prepare  a  collation  of  the  best  fruits  and  the  most  exquisite 
confections  she  could  find  ;  which  she  did  right  gladly,  with  all 
possible  daintiness.  Though  she  was  in  kerchief  and  mantle, 
and  appeared  to  more  than  usual  advantage  in  that  neglige ,  the 
prince  affected  not  to  look  at  her,  but  talked  continually  about 
his  business  to  her  husband,  who  had  always  had  the  manage¬ 
ment  of  it.  Whilst  the  wife  knelt  before  the  prince  to  present 
him  some  confections,  and  the  husband  was  going  to  the  buffet 
to  fetch  him  something  to  drink,  she  found  time  to  tell  him  not 
to  fail  on  departing  to  enter  a  garderobe  on  the  right,  where  she 
would  soon  join  him.  When  he  had  drunk,  he  thanked  the 
advocate,  who  wished  by  all  means  to  accompany  him  ;  but  this 
the  prince  would  not  allow,  assuring  him  he  was  going  to  a  place 
where  he  had  no  need  of  company.  Then  turning  to  the  wife, 
he  said,  “  I  will  not  deprive  you  of  your  good  husband,  who  is 
one  of  my  old  servants.  You  are  so  happy  in  having  him  that 
you  have  reason  to  thank  God.  You  must  serve  and  obey  him 
well  ;  and  if  you  did  otherwise  you  would  be  very  ungrateful.” 
So  saying,  he  went  out,  shut  the  door  after  him,  that  he  might 
not  be  followed  to  the  staircase,  and  entered  the  garderobe ,  where 
the  fair  one  joined  him  as  soon  as  her  husband  was  asleep.  She 
took  him  into  a  cabinet  as  elegant  as  could  be,  but  in  truth  there 
was  nothing  in  it  handsomer  than  he  and  she  ;  and  I  doubt  not 
that  she  kept  word  with  him  as  to  all  she  had  promised.  He 
left  her  at  the  hour  he  had  told  his  people,  and  found  them  at  the 
place  where  he  had  desired  them  to  wait  for  him. 

As  the  intrigue  was  of  long  duration,  the  prince  chose  a 
shorter  way  to  go  to  the  advocate’s;  this  was  to  pass  through  a 
monastery.  He  managed  matters  so  well  with  the  prior  that 
every  night  the  porter  opened  the  door  for  him  towards  midnight, 
and  did  the  same  when  he  returned.  The  advocate’s  house  not 
being  far  from  the  monastery,  he  took  no  one  with  him.  Not¬ 
withstanding  the  prince  led  the  life  I  have  described,  still  he 
loved  and  feared  God,  so  true  it  is  that  man  is  a  whimsical 
mixture  of  good  and  evil,  and  a  perpetual  contradiction.  On  hi? 


I 


476  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

way  to  th^  advocate’s  he  only  passed  through  the  monastery,  but 
on  his  return  he  never  failed  to  remain  a  long  time  at  prayer  in 
the  church.  The  monks,  seeing  him  on  his  knees  as  they  went  to 
matins,  or  returned  from  them,  believed  he  was  the  most  pious 
of  men. 

The  prince  had  a  sister  who  was  much  in  the  habit  of  fre¬ 
quenting  that  convent.  As  she  loved  her  brother  above  all  men, 
she  used  to  commend  him  to  the  prayers  of  all  the  good  people 
sue  knew.  One  day,  when  she  was  thus  speaking  for  him  with 
great  earnestness  to  the  prior  of  this  monastery,  the  good  father 
replied,  “  Why,  madam,  what  is  that  you  ask  of  me  ?  You 
name  the  very  man  above  all  others  to  whose  prayers  I  most 
desire  to  be  myself  commended  ;  for  if  he  is  not  pious  and 
righteous,  I  never  expect  to  see  one  that  is  so.”  Thereupon  he 
quoted  the  text  which  says  that  “  Blessed  is  he  who  can  do  evil, 
and  doeth  it  not.”  The  sister,  who  longed  to  know  what  proof 
the  prior  had  of  her  brother’s  sanctity,  questioned  him  so 
earnestly  that  he  said  to  her,  as  if  he  was  revealing  a  secret  of 
the  confessional,  “  Is  it  not  a  marvellous  and  goodly  thing  to  see 
a  young  and  handsome  prince  abandoning  pleasures  and  repose 
to  come  frequently  to  our  matins?  He  does  not  come  like  a 
prince  who  seeks  to  be  honoured  of  men,  but  quite  alone  like  a 
simple  monk,  and  he  goes  and  hides  himself  in  one  of  our 
chapels.  This  devotion  so  confounds  my  brethren  and  myself, 
that  we  do  not  think  ourselves  worthy  to  be  called  men  of  religion 
in  comparison  with  him.” 

The  sister  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  this  ;  for  though  her 
brother  was  very  mundane,  she  knew,  nevertheless,  that  he  had 
a  good  conscience,  that  he  believed  in  God  and  loved  him  much  ; 
but  she  could  never  have  imagined  that  he  would  make  a  practice 
of  going  to  church  at  that  hour.  As  soon  as  she  saw  him,  she 
told  him  what  a  good  opinion  the  monks  had  of  him.  He  could 
not  help  laughing,  and  in  such  a  manner  that  she,  who  knew 
him  as  she  did  her  own  heart,  readily  guessed  that  there  was 
something  concealed  under  this  pretended  devotion.  She  teased 
him  so  much  that  at  last  he  told  her  the  whole  truth,  as  you  have 
heard  from  me,  and  as  she  did  me  the  honour  to  relate  it  to  me.* 

*  Francis  I.  is  the  young  prince  who  figures  in  this  novel.  The  same  story 
has  been  told  of  him,  with  additional  circumstances,  by  some  historians  and 
others.  It  is  thus  related  by  a  physician  named  Louis  Guyon,  Sieur  de  la 
Nauche,  who  flourished  at  the  end  of  the  16th  century.  “  Francis  I.  was  en¬ 
amoured  of  a  lady  of  great  beauty  and  g^ent  grace,  the  wife  of  an  advocate  ot 
Paris,  whom  I  will  not  name,  for  he  has  left  children  in  high  estate,  and  who 


V 


AFovei  25.J  Third  Day.  177 

You  see  by  this,  ladies,  that  there  are  no  advocates  so  crafty, 
or  monks  so  shrewd,  but  -that  they  may  be  tricked  in  case  of 
need  when  one  loves  well.  Since,  then,  love  teaches  how  to 
trick  the  tricksters,  how  much  reason  have  we  to  fear  it,  we  who 
are  poor  simple  creatures  ? 

“Though  I  guess  pretty  well,”  said  Geburon,  “who  is  the 
hero  of  this  tale,  I  cannot  help  saying  that  he  is  to  be  praised  for 
having  kept  the  secret  ;  for  there  are  few  great  lords  who  give 
themselves  any  concern  either  about  the  honour  of  women  or 
public  scandal,  provided  they  have  their  pleasure.  Frequently, 
even,  they  act  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  people  believe  more 
than  the  truth.” 

are  persons  of  good  repute.  The  lady  would  never  comply  with  the  king  a 
desires,  but  on  the  contrary  repulsed  him  with  many  rude  words,  which  hart 
him  sore.  Knowing  this,  some  courtiers  and  royal  pimps  told  the  king  he 
might  take  her  authoritatively  and  by  the  power  of  his  royalty.  One  of  them 
actually  went  and  said  this  to  the  lady,  who  reported  it  to  her  husband.  The 
advocate  saw  plainly  that  they  must  quit  the  realm,  and  that,  moreover,  they 
should  find  it  very  hard  to  escape,  unless  they  obeyed.  Finally,  the  husband 
allowed  his  wife  to  comply  with  the  king's  desire  ;  and  that  he  might  be  no 
hindrance,  he  pretended  to  have  business  in  the  country  for  eight  or  ten  days. 
Meanwhile  he  remained  concealed  in  Paris,  frequenting  the  brothels,  trying  to 
catch  the  pox  to  give  to  his  wife,  that  the  king  might  take  it  from  her.  He 
quickly  got  what  he  sought,  infected  his  wife,  and  she  the  king,  who  gave  it 
to  several  other  women  with  whom  he  conversed  ;  and  he  never  could  be 
thoroughly  cured,  for  all  the  rest  of  his  life  he  was  unhealthy,  sad,  peevish,  and 
inaccessible.”  ( Diverses  Lemons  de  Louis  Guy  on,  sieur  de  la  Nauche.  Lyon( 
1610,  t.  11,  p.  109.)  Brant6me  also  speaks  of  the  malady  contracted  by  the 
king  through  his  gallantries,  and  says  that  it  shortened  his  life  ;  but  he  does 
not  mention  any  woman  in  particular,  or  allude  to  the  story  of  the  advocate’s 
wife.  “Many  have  thought  that  she  was  no  other  than  *  La  belle  Fdronniere, ' 
so  called  because  she  was  married  to  an  advocate  of  the  Le  Feron  family, 
many  members  of  which  were  distinguished  in  the  bar  of  Paris.” 

“  We  must,  then,”  say  the  Bibliophiles  Franpais,  “number  among  apocryphal 
anecdotes  the  last  and  vilest  part  of  the  adventure  of  the  advocate  of  Paris 
What  is  true,  Margaret  has  made  known  to  us  ;  modern  historians,  even  those 
who  have  shown  themselves  most  unfavourable  to  Francis  I.,  have  not  re¬ 
produced  the  fact  stated  by  Louis  Guyon.  M,  Genin,  editor  of  Margaret’s 
letters,  has  even  published  the  postcript  of  a  letter  of  Cardinal  d’Armagnac, 
which  proves  that  at  least  a  year  before  his  death  the  king  was  in  perfect  health. 
(See  Lettres  de  Marguerite  d'  An goul&me,  &c.,  1841,  8vo.,  p.  473.)  Thus  is 
annihilated  the  ignoble  accusation  of  a  shameful  disease  which  should  have 
hastened  the  death  of  Francis  I.” 

In  Grammont’s  Memoirs  it  is  related  that  the  Duke  of  York,  afterwards 
James  II.,  was  the  victim  of  the  same  sort  of  revenge  on  the  part  of  a  jealous 
husband  as  that  attributed  to  the  advocate  of  Paris. 


H 


178  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

“It  would  be  well,”  said  Oisille,  “if  all  young  lords  fol¬ 
lowed  this  example,  for  often  the  scandal  is  worse  than  the 
sin.” 

“  Vou  may  well  believe,”  said  Nomerfide,  “that  the  prayers 
he  offered  up  in  church  were  very  sincere  and  very  acceptable 
to  God.” 

“  That  is  not  a  question  for  you  to  decide,”  said  Parlamente, 
“  for,  perhaps,  his  repentance  was  such  on  his  return  from  his 
assignation  that  his  sin  was  forgiven.” 

“  It  is  very  difficult,”  said  Hircan,  “  to  repent  of  a  thing  that 
gives  such  pleasure.  For  my  part,  I  have  often  confessed,  but 
hardly  repented  it.” 

“  If  one  does  not  repent,  it  were  better  not  to  confess,”  ob¬ 
served  Oisille. 

“Sin  displeases  me,  madam,”  rejoined  Hircan.  “  I  am  vexed 
at  offending  God  ;  but  pleasure  pleases  me.” 

“You  would  be  very  glad,  you  and  others  like  you,”  remarked 
Parlamente,  “  that  there  were  neither  God  nor  law  but  what 
agreed  with  your  own  inclination.” 

“  I  confess,”  said  Hircan,  “  I  should  be  glad  if  my  pleasures 
were  as  pleasing  to  God  as  they  are  to  me.  In  that  case,  I 
would  often  give  matter  for  rejoicing.” 

“  You  will  not  make  a  new  God,  however,”  said  Geburon  ; 
“  and  so  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  obey  the  one  we  have; 
But  let  us  leave  these  disputes  to  theologians,  and  see  to  whom 
Longarine  will  give  her  voice.” 

“To  Saffredent,”  said  Longarine,  “on  condition  that  he  tells 
us  the  finest  tale  he  can  recollect,  and  that  he  is  not  so  intent 
on  speaking  ill  of  women  as  not  to  do  them  justice  when  he  can 
say  anything  to  their  advantage.” 

“  With  all  my  heart,”  said  Saffredent.  “  I  recollect,  quite 
<2  propos ,  a  story  of  a  loose  woman  and  a  staid  one  ;  so  you  may 
choose  whichever  example  of  the  two  you  prefer.  You  will  see 
from  this  story  that  love  makes  bad  acts  be  done  by  persons  ot 
bad  heart  ;  it  also  makes  people  of  worth  do  things  deserving  of 
praise  ;  for  love  is  good  in  itself,  but  the  depravity  of  the 
individual  often  makes  it  take  a  new  title,  such  as  lascivious, 
light,  cruel,  or  vile.  You  will  see,  nevertheless,  from  the  tale  I 
am  about  to  tell,  that  love  does  not  change  the  heart,  but  makes 
it  appear  such  as  it  is  :  wanton  in  the  wanton,  sober  in  the 
sober.” 


Novel  26 .1 


Third  Day . 


179 


NOVEL  XX\I. 

How  the  Lord  of  Avannes  was  weaned  from  a  dissolute  amour  with  a  lady  ol 
Pampeluna  by  the  advice  and  sisterly  affection  of  a  virtuous  lady. 

URING  the  reign  of  King  Louis  XII.,  there  was  a  young 
lord  named  Monsieur  D’Avannes,  son  of  Monsieur 
d’Albret,  the  brother  of  John,  King  of  Navarre,  with 
whom  D’Avannes  usually  resided.  This  young  lord  was 
so  handsome,  and  had  such  an  engaging  demeanour  at  the  age 
of  fifteen,  that  he  seemed  to  be  made  only  to  be  beloved  and 
admired  ;  and  so  he  was  by  all  who  saw  him,  and  above  all  by 
a  lady  who  lived  in  Pampeluna,  in  Navarre,  and  was  married  to 
a  very  wealthy  man,  with  whom  she  lived  happily.  Though  she 
was  but  three-and-twenty,  yet,  as  her  husband  was  nearly  fifty, 
she  dressed  so  modestly  that  she  had  more  the  appearance  of  a 
widow  than  of  a  married  woman.  She  was  never  seen  at  wed 
dings  or  festivities  but  with  her  husband,  whose  worth  she  prized 
so  highly  that  she  preferred  it  to  the  good  looks  of  all  other 
men.  The  husband,  on  his  side,  knew  her  to  be  so  discreet, 
and  had  so  much  confidence  in  her,  that  he  entrusted  all  the 
affairs  of  the  house  to  her  prudence. 

This  rich  man  and  his  wife  were  one  day  invited  to  the  wed¬ 
ding  of  one  of  their  female  relations.  D'Avannes  was  present 
to  do  honour  to  the  bridal,  and  also  because  he  was  fond  of 
dancing,  in  which  he  acquitted  himself  better  than  any  man  of 
his  day.  When  dinner  was  over  and  the  ball  began,  the  rich 
man  begged  D’Avannes  to  dance.  The  latter  asked  with  whom 
he  would  have  him  dance  :  whereupon  the  rich  man,  taking  his 
wife  by  the  hand,  presented  her  to  D’Avannes,  and  said,  “  If 
there  was  a  handsomer  lady  in  the  room,  monsieur,  or  one  so 
much  at  my  disposal,  I  would  present  her  to  you  as  I  do  this  one, 
begging  you,  monsieur,  to  do  me  the  honour  to  dance  with  her.” 
The  prince  gladly  complied  ;  and  he  was  still  so  young  that  he 
took  more  pleasure  in  dancing  and  skipping  than  in  gazing  on 
ladies’  charms.  It  was  not  so  with  his  partner,  who  paid  more 
attention  to  the  handsome  figure  and  good  looks  of  her  cavalier 
than  to  the  dance  ;  but  she  took  care  not  to  let  this  appear. 

Supper  time  being  come,  M.  D  Avannes  took  leave  of  the 
company  and  retired  to  the  chateau.  The  rich  man  escorted  him 
thither,  mounted  on  his  mule,  and  said  to  him  on  the  way, 
“  Monsieur,  you  have  to-day  done  so  much  honour  to  my  relations 
and  myself  that  I  should  be  ungrateful  if  I  did  not  make  you 


j8o  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 

every  offering  in  my  power.  I  know,  monsieur,  that  lords  like 
you,  who  have  strict  and  close-handed  fathers,  have  often  more 
need  of  money  than  we,  who,  with  our  small  retinue  and  good 
management,  do  nothing  but  amass.  God,  who  has  given  me 
everything  that  could  be  desired  in  a  wife,  has  thought  fit  to  leave 
me  still  something  to  wish  for  in  this  world,  since  I  am  deprived 
of  the  joy  which  fathers  derive  from  children.  I  know,  mon¬ 
sieur,  that  it  does  not  belong  to  me  to  adopt  you  ;  but  if  you 
please  to  regard  me  as  your  servant,  and  confide  your  little  affairs 
*.o  me,  as  far  as  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  may  go  you  shall 
never  want  for  aid  in  your  need.” 

M.  D’Avannes  was  very  glad  of  this  offer,  for  he  had  just  such 
a  father  as  the  other  had  mentioned  ;  and  after  thanking  his 
generous  friend,  he  called  him  his  father  by  alliance.  Thence¬ 
forth  the  rich  man  was  so  fondly  attached  to  M.  D’Avannes  that 
he  failed  not  to  ask  him  every  morning  and  evening  if  he  wanted 
anything  ;  and  he  made  no  secret  of  this  to  his  wife,  who  was 
much  pleased  with  it.  M.  D’Avannes  never  afterwards  wanted 
anything  he  could  desire.  He  often  went  to  see  his  father  by 
alliance,  and  eat  with  him  ;  and  when  he  did  not  find  him  at 
home,  the  wife  gave  him  whatever  he  asked  for,  and  spoke  to 
him  so  sagely,  exhorting  him  to  virtue,  that  he  feared  and  loved 
her  above  all  women  in  the  world.  For  her  part,  having  the 
fear  of  God  and  honour  before  her  eyes,  she  contented  herself 
with  seeing  and  speaking  to  him,  which  is  enough  for  a  virtuous 
love  ;  nor  did  she  ever  give  him  any  indication  from  which  he 
could  conjecture  that  she  entertained  for  him  any  other  than  a 
sisterly  and  Christian  regard.  About  the  age  of  seventeen,  M. 
D’Avannes  began  to  attach  himself  more  to  the  ladies  than  he  had 
been  used  to  do  ;  and  though  he  would  more  gladly  have  loved 
his  own  good  lady  than  any  other,  the  fear  of  losing  her  friend¬ 
ship  hindered  him  from  speaking,  and  made  him  fix  his  choice 
elsewhere. 

He  addressed  himself  to  a  lady  near  Pampeluna,  who  had  a 
house  in  the  town,  and  had  married  a  young  man  whose  ruling 
passion  was  horses,  dogs,  and  hawks.  For  her  sake  he  gave  a 
thousand  entertainments,  such  as  tournaments,  games,  races, 
wrestling- matches,  masquerades,  balls,  &c.  ;  but  as  the  husband 
was  of  a  jealous  temper,  and  the  lady’s  father  and  mother  knew 
her  to  be  fair  and  frolicsome,  and  were  afraid  of  her  tripping, 
they  watched  her  so  closely  that  all  M.  D’Avannes  could  do  was 
to  whisper  a  word  or  two  in  her  ear  at  a  ball,  although  he  well 
knew,  and  this  made  the  matter  still  more  provoking,  that 


V 


Ncvel  26.J  Third  Day.  t3  1 

nothing  but  time  and  place  was  wanting  for  the  consummation 
of  their  mutual  inclinations.  He  went  to  his  good  father,  told 
him  he  had  a  mind  to  visit  Notre  Dame  de  Montferrat,  and 
begged  he  would  receive  his  whole  retirue  into  his  house,  for  it 
was  his  wish  to  go  alone.  This  request  was  instantly  granted; 
but  as  love  is  a  great  prophet,  and  as  the  wife  was  under  the 
influence  of  that  power,  she  guessed  the  truth  at  once,  and  could 
not  help  saying  to  M.  D’Avannes,  “The  Notre  Dame  you  adore, 
monsieur,  is  not  outside  the  walls  of  this  town.  Take  care  of 
your  health,  I  beseech  you.”  M.  D  Avannes,  who,  as  I  have 
already  said,  feared  and  loved  her,  blushed  so  much  at  these 
words  that  he  tacitly  betrayed  the  truth,  and  went  away. 

After  buying  two  handsome  Spanish  horses,  he  dressed  him¬ 
self  as  a  groom,  and  disguised  himself  so  well  that  no  one  could 
have  known  him.  The  husband  of  the  wanton  lady,  being  fond 
of  horses  above  all  things,  saw  the  two  belonging  to  M.  D’Avannes, 
and  immediately  offered  to  buy  them.  The  bargain  being  con¬ 
cluded,  he  took  particular  notice  of  the  groom,  and  seeing  that 
he  managed  the  horses  very  well,  asked  if  he  would  enter  his 
service.  M.  D’Avannes  at  once  agreed  to  do  so,  and  said  he  was 
a  poor  groom,  who  could  do  nothing  but  take  care  of  horses, 
but  this  he  could  do  so  well  that  his  master  would  be  satisfied 
with  him.  The  gentleman  gave  him  the  change  of  all  his  horses, 
and  when  he  reached  home  told  his  wife  that  he  was  going  to 
the  chateau,  and  that  he  begged  her  to  look  after  his  groom  and 
his  horses.  As  much  to  please  her  husband  as  because  she  had 
no  other  recreation,  the  lady  went  to  see  the  horses,  and  noticed 
the  new  groom,  who  seemed  to  her  a  good-looking  man  ;  but 
she  did  not  recognize  him.  Seeing  this,  he  made  his  obeisanc' 
to  her  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  ani 
in  so  doing  pressed  it  so  strongly  that  she  knew  him,  for  he  had 
often  done  the  same  thing  in  dancing  with  her.  From  that 
moment  she  thought  of  nothing  but  how  she  might  contrive 
to  speak  with  him  in  private  ;  and  this  she  did  that  very 
evening.  She  was  invited  to  an  entertainment  to  which  her 
husband  was  to  have  taken  her  ;  but  she  feigned  indisposition, 
and  would  not  go.  Her  husband,  not  wishing  to  disappoint  his 
friends,  begged  her,  since  she  would  not  accompany  him,  to  look 
after  his  dogs  and  his  horses,  and  see  that  they  wanted  for  no¬ 
thing.  This  commission  was  most  agreeable  to  her  ;  but  the 
better  to  play  her  part,  s  e  replied  that,  since  he  would  not  employ 
her  in  higher  things,  she  would  prove  to  him,  by  her  care  fof 
the  least,  how  much  she  desired  to  please  him. 


/ 


f  8a  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 


No  sooner  was  her  husband  gone  than  she  went  to  the  stable, 
where  she  found  that  something  was  not  as  it  should  be.  To 
set  matters  right,  she  gave  so  many  orders  to  the  men  that  she 
was  left  alone  with  the  head  groom,  and,  for  fear  of  anyone 
coming  upon  them,  she  told  him  to  go  into  the  garden  and  wait 
for  her  in  a  little  corner  at  the  end  of  an  alley,  which  he  did  with 
such  haste  that  he  had  not  time  even  to  thank  her.  Having 
given  her  orders  in  the  stables,  she  went  to  see  the  dogs,  and 
busied  herself  so  much  about  them,  that  it  seemed  as  though 


from  being  mistress  she  had  become  servant.  All  this  being 
done,  she  went  back  to  her  chamber,  and  complained  so  much 
of  fatigue  that  she  had  to  go  to  bed.  All  her  women  withdrew 
except  one,  in  whom  she  specially  confided  ;  and  this  one  she 
sent  to  the  garden,  with  orders  to  bring  her  the  man  she  would 
find  at  the  end  of  the  alley.  The  chambermaid  found  the  head- 
groom,  brought  him  straightway  to  her  mistress,  and  then  mounted 
guard  outside,  to  give  warning  should  the  husband  return,  M. 
D’Avannes,  finding  himself  alone  with  his  fair  one,  stripped  ofl 
his  groom’s  dress,  his  false  nose,  and  false  beard,  and  not  as  a 
timorous  groom,  but  in  his  proper  character,  boldly  stepped 
into  bed  to  her  without  asking  leave,  and  was  received  as  the 
handsomest  man  of  his  time  by  the  most  wanton  woman  in  the 
country.  There  he  remained  until  the  return  of  her  husband, 
when  he  resumed  his  mask,  and  quitted  the  place  he  had  sc 
cunningly  usurped. 

The  husband,  on  entering  his  courtyard,  found  that  his  wife 
had  carefully  executed  his  orders,  and  thanked  her  for  it.  “  I 
have  only  done  my  duty,  my  dear,”  she  said.  “  It  is  true  that 
if  one  had  not  an  eye  on  the  varlets,  you  have  not  a  dog  but 
what  would  be  mangy,  or  a  horse  but  would  be  out  of  condition  ; 
but  as  I  know  their  laziness  and  your  wishes,  you  shall  be  better 
served  than  ever  you  have  been.”  The  husband,  who  thought 
he  had  got  the  best  groom  in  the  world,  asked  her  what  she 
thought  of  him.  “  I  assure  you,  monsieur,”  said  she,  “  that  he 
knows  his  business  as  well  as  any  man  you  could  find.  Still  he 
requires  to  be  kept  to  his  work,  for  he  is  the  sleepiest  varlet  I 
ever  saw.”  The  wedded  pair  were  on  better  terms  with  each 
other  than  they  had  ever  been,  and  the  husband  became  quite 
cured  of  his  jealousy,  because  his  wife  was  now  as  attached 
to  her  household  concerns  as  she  had  previously  been  fond 
of  feasts,  dances,  and  company.  Formerly  she  used  always  to 
spend  four  hours  at  her  toilette  ;  but  now  she  dressed  very 
simply.  Hei  husband,  and  those  who  did  not  know  that  a  worse 

I 


Novel  26.]  Third  Day .  183 

devil  had  driven  out  a  lesser,  extolled  her  for  so  happy  a  change. 
Meanwhile,  this  virtuous-seeming  hypocrite  led  such  a  licentious 
life  that  reason,  conscience,  order,  or  moderation  had  no  longer 
any  place  in  her.  M.  D’Avannes,  being  young  and  of  a  delicate 
constitution,  could  not  tong  sustain  all  this  ;  but  became  so  pale 
and  thin  that  he  had  no  need  of  a  mask  to  conceal  his  identity. 
His  extravagant  love  for  this  woman  had  so  infatuated  him  that 
he  imagined  he  had  strength  to  accomplish  devoirs  for  which 
that  of  Hercules  would  not  have  been  sufficient.  Having  fallen 
ill  at  last,  and  being  teased  by  the  lady,  who  was  not  so  fond  ot 
him  sick  as  sound,  he  asked  for  his  discharge,  which  the  hus¬ 
band  granted  with  regret,  making  him  promise  to  return  as  soon 
as  he  was  recovered. 

M.  D’Avannes  had  no  need  of  a  horse  for  his  departure,  for  he 
had  only  the  length  of  a  street  to  travel.  He  went  at  once  to 
his  good  father’s,  and  found  there  only  his  wife,  whose  virtuous 
love  for  him  had  not  at  all  decreased  through  absence.  When  she 
saw  him  so  pale  and  thin,  she  could  not  help  saying  to  him,  “  I 
do  not  know,  monsieur,  what  is  the  present  state  of  your  con¬ 
science,  but  I  do  not  perceive  that  your  pilgrimage  has  increased 
your  plumpness.  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if  your  travels  by 
night  1  ave  not  fatigued  you  more  than  those  by  day.  If  you  had 
made  the  journey  to  Jerusalem  on  foot,  you  would  have  come 
back  more  sunburnt,  but  not  so  lean  and  weak.  Recollect  this 
ride,  and  pay  no  more  devotions  to  such  images,  which,  instead 
of  resuscitating  the  dead,  bring  the  living  to  death.  I  should 
say  more  to  you,  but  I  see  that,  if  you  have  sinned,  you  have 
been  so  punished  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  add  to  your  distress.” 

M.  D’Avannes,  more  ashamed  than  penitent,  replied,  “  I  have 
heard,  madam,  that  repentance  follows  close  upon  the  fault. 
This  I  experience,  to  my  cost;  and  I  pray  you,  madam,  to  excuse 
my  youth,  which  is  punished  by  the  experience  of  the  mischief 
it  would  not  be  warned  against.” 

The  lady  changed  the  conversation,  and  made  him  lie  down  in 
a  fine  bed,  where  he  remained  for  a  fortnight,  taking  nothing 
but  restoratives;  and  the  husband  and  the  wife  were  so  assiduous 
in  their  attentions  that  one  or  other  was  alwa>s  with  him. 
Thojgh  he  had  committed  the  folly  you  have  heard  against  the 
feelings  and  the  advice  of  the  excellent  lady,  she  nevertheless 
continued  to  love  him  as  before,  in  the  hope  that,  when  this  great 
fire  of  youth  had  passed  away,  he  would  reform  and  come  to 
love  rightly,  and  then  he  would  be  all  her  own.  During  the 
foitnight  he  remained  in  her  house,  she  talked  so  much  and 


4 


184  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

well  to  inspire  him  with  a  love  of  virtue  that  he  began  to  hate 
vice,  and  to  be  disgusted  with  his  fault. 

Gazing  one  day  on  the  virtuous  lady,  who  appeared  to  him 
much  handsomer  than  the  wanton,  and  knowing  her  excellent 
qualities  better  than  he  had  ever  done,  he  banished  all  fear,  and 
thus  addressed  her  :  “  I  see  no  better  means,  madam,  of  becoming 
as  good  as  you  would  have  me  to  be,  than  to  turn  my  whole 
heart  to  the  love  of  virtue.  Pray  tell  me,  madam,  I  beseech  you, 
would  you  not  have  the  goodness  to  give  me  all  the  aid  in  your 
power  to  that  end  ?  ” 

The  lady,  delighted  to  see  him  come  to  the  point  to  which  she 
wished  to  lead  him,  replied,  “  I  promise  you,  monsieur,  that  if 
you  love  virtue  as  much  as  becomes  a  lord  of  your  rank,  I  will 
spare  nothing  to  render  you  all  the  services  of  which  I  may  be 
capable.” 

“  Remembt-ryour  promise,  madam,”  returned  D’Avannes;  “and 
consider  that  God,  whom  the  Christian  knows  only  by  faith,  has 
deigned  to  assume  flesh  like  that  of  the  sinner,  in  order  that, 
attracting  our  flesh  to  the  love  of  his  humanity,  He  might  also 
attract  our  spirits  to  the  love  of  his  divinity,  thus  employing 
visible  things  to  make  us  love  the  Invisible.  As  this  virtue,  which 
I  wish  to  love  all  my  life  long,  has  nothing  visible  about  it  except 
the  outward  effects  it  produces,  it  is  necessary  that  it  should 
assume  some  body,  in  order  to  make  itself  known  to  men.  It  has 
assumed  that  body,  madam,  in  putting  on  yours,  the  most  perfect 
it  could  have  found.  I  own,  therefore,  that  you  are  not  only 
virtuous,  but  actually  virtue  itself  ;  and  I,  who  see  that  virtue 
shine  beneath  the  veil  of  the  most  beautiful  body  that  ever  existed, 
wish  to  serve  and  honour  it  all  my  life,  and  to  renounce  for  ever 
the  love  that  is  criminal  and  vain.” 

The  lady,  though  no  less  delighted  than  surprised  to  hear  him 
speak  thus,  was  able  completely  to  conceal  her  feelings,  and  said, 
44  I  will  not  take  upon  me,  monsieur,  to  reply  to  your  theology  ; 
but  as  I  am  much  more  disposed  to  fear  the  evil  than  to  believe 
the  good,  I  beg  you  will  not  address  me  in  a  language  which 
gives  you  so  poor  an  opinion  of  those  who  are  weak  enough  to 
believe  it.  I  know  very  well  that  I  am  a  woman  like  any  other, 
and  a  woman  that  has  so  many  defects  that  virtue  would  do 
something  greater  in  transforming  me  into  itself  than  in  trans¬ 
forming  itself  into  me,  unless  it  wished  to  remain  unknown  to 
the  world.  No  one  would  think  of  recognizing  it  under  such  a 
garb  as  mine.  Howbeit,  with  all  my  faults,  my  lord,  I  still  love 
you  as  much  as  a  woman  can  and  ought  who  fears  God  and 


V 


Novel  26.]  Third  Day.  185 

cherishes  honour  ;  but  this  love  shall  not  be  declared  to  you  until 
your  heart  is  capable  of  the  patience  which  a  virtuous  love  re¬ 
quires.  When  that  time  comes,  monsieur,  I  know  what  1  shall 
h<ive  to  tell  you.  Meanwhile,  be  assured  that  your  welfare,  your 
person,  and  your  honour  are  dearer  to  me  than  to  yourself.” 

Trembling,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  M.  D’Avannes  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  take  a  kiss  as  a  pledge  of  her  word,  but  she 
refused,  saying  that  she  did  not  choose  to  violate  the  custom  of 
the  country  for  him.  Presently  the  husband  arrived.  “  I  am 
so  much  indebted,  father,”  said  D’Avannes,  “to  you  and  your 
wife,  that  I  entreat  you  always  to  regard  me  as  your  son.” 
The  good  man  willingly  expressed  his  assent.  “  Let  me  kiss 
you,  then,  in  assurance  of  that  affection,”  continued  D’Avannes. 
This  was  done.  “  If  I  were  not  afraid,”  he  said  next,  “of  con¬ 
travening  the  law,  I  would  request  the  same  favour  of  my 
mother,  your  wife.”  The  husband  desired  his  wife  to  kiss  him, 
which  she  did  without  testifying  either  repugnance  or  alacrity  , 
whilst  the  fire  which  the  previous  conversation  had  already 
kindled  in  the  heart  of  M.  D’Avannes  grew  hotter  at  this  kiss  so 
ardently  longed  for,  and  before  so  peremptorily  denied  him. 

After  this,  M.  D’Avannes  went  back  to  the  king,  his  brother, 
and  told  all  sorts  of  stories  about  his  journey  to  Montferrat.  To 
his  great  vexation  he  learned  that  his  brother  was  going  to  Oly 
and  Taffares,  and  fearing  that  the  journey  would  be  a  long  one, 
he  resolved  to  try  before  his  departure  if  the  lady  were  not 
better  disposed  towards  him  than  she  appeared.  To  this  end  h ?. 
went  to  lodge  in  town,  and  took,  in  the  street  in  which  she  lived, 
a  dilapidated  old  wooden  house,  to  which  he  set  fire  about 
midnight.  The  whole  lown  was  in  great  alarm  ;  the  rich  man 
was  roused  by  the  noise,  and  calling  out  from  the  window  to 
know  where  the  fire  was,  he  was  told  that  it  was  at  the  house 
of  M.  D’Avannes.  Hurrying  thither  with  all  his  domestics,  he 
found  the  young  lord  in  the  street  in  his  shirt.  Such  was  his 
pity  for  him  that,  taking  him  in  his  arms,  and  covering  him  with 
his  own  robe,  he  hastened  home  with  him,  and  said  to  his  wife, 
*'  Here  is  a  prisoner,  my  dear,  whom  I  commit  to  your  custody. 
Treat  him  like  myself.” 

He  was  no  sooner  gone  than  M.  D’Avannes,  who  would  have 
been  glad  to  be  treated  as  her  husband,  jumped  into  the  bed, 
hoping  that  the  opportunity  and  the  place  would  inspire  the 
chaste  lady  with  more  humane  sentiments  ;  but  he  was  quite 
disappointed,  for  as  he  got  in  at  one  side  she  got  out  at  the 
other,  carrying  away  her  chamarre ,  which  she  put  on  ;  and 


f86  The  Heptameron  op  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

seating  herself  at  the  bedside,  she  said,  “  What  !  monsieur, 
did  you  imagine  that  opportunity  could  change  a  virtuous  heart? 
Know  that  as  gold  becomes  purer  in  the  tire,  so  a  chaste  heart 
grows  stronger  amid  temptations.  Often  it  grows  stronger 
among  them  than  elsewhere,  and  becomes  nore  cold  the  more 
it  is  attacked  by  its  opposite.  Be  assured,  then,  that  if  I  had 
entertained  any  other  sentiments  than  those  I  have  avowed,  I 
should  not  have  lacked  means,  and  that  I  neglect  them  only 
because  I  do  not  choose  to  use  them.  if  you  would  have  me 
continue  to  love  you,  banish  not  only  the  desire  but  the  thought 
that,  do  what  you  may,  you  can  ever  bring  me  to  be  other  than 
what  I  am.” 

Her  women  now  coming  in,  she  ordered  them  to  prepare  a 
collation  of  all  sorts  of  confections  ;  but  D’Avannes  could  neither 
eat  nor  drink,  so  great  was  his  vexation  at  having  missed  his 
blow,  and  exposed  himself,  as  he  feared,  by  that  demonstration 
of  his  desires,  to  lose  the  position  of  familiarity  in  which  he  had 
been  with  her.  The  husband,  having  taken  measures  for  ex¬ 
tinguishing  the  fire,  returned,  and  prevailed  on  M.  D’Avannes  to 
pass  the  night  in  his  house  ;  but  he  passed  it  in  such  a  manner 
that  his  eyes  were  more  occupied  in  weeping  than  in  sleeping. 
He  went  and  bade  them  adieu  at  the  bedside  very  early  in  the 
morning,  and  plainly  perceived,  in  kissing  the  lady,  that  she  felt 
more  pity  than  anger  for  his  fault.  This  was  a  fresh  brand  to 
the  fire  of  his  love.  After  dinner  he  set  out  for  Taffares  with 
the  king  ;  but  before  his  departure  he  went  twice  more  to  take 
a  final  farewell  of  his  good  father  and  his  wife,  who.  since  her 
husband’s  first  command,  no  longer  made  any  scruple  to  kiss 
M.  D’Avannes  as  her  son. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  more  virtue  did  violence  to  the  poor 
lady’s  eyes  and  countenance,  constraining  them  to  hide  the  fire 
that  was  in  her  heart,  the  more  it  augmented  and  became  insup¬ 
portable,  U nable,  then,  any  longer  to  endure  the  conflict  between, 
love  and  honour,  which  yet  she  had  resolved  should  never  be 
manifested,  and  having  no  longer  the  pleasure  and  consolation 
of  seeing  and  conversing  with  him  for  whom  she  lived,  she 
fell  into  a  continuous  fever,  caused  by  a  melancholy  humour 
which  she  was  forced  to  conceal,  and  which  rendered  the  ex¬ 
tremities  of  her  body  quite  cold,  though  the  inside  burned 
continually.  The  physicians,  a  class  of  men  on  whose  hands 
hangs  not  the  health  of  men,  began  to  despair  on  account  of 
an  obstruction  of  the  spleen,  which  rendered  her  melanchoiy, 
and  they  advised  the  husband  to  warn  his  wife  to  think  ot  hei 


Third  Day . 


Navel  26.] 


187 


conscience,  saying  that  she  was  in  the  hands  of  God  ;  as  if 
people  in  good  health  were  not  there  also.  The  husband,  who 
was  excessively  fond  of  his  wife,  was  so  overwhelmed  at  this 
news  that  he  wrote,  for  his  own  consolation,  to  M.  D’Avannes, 
begging  he  would  take  the  trouble  to  come  and  see  them,  in 
the  hope  that  his  presence  would  be  a  comfort  to  the  patient. 
M.  D’Avannes,  on  receipt  of  the  letter,  instantly  started  off  post¬ 
haste,  and  on  entering  the  house,  he  found  the  domestics  of 
both  sexes  as  full  of  grief  for  their  mistress  as  she  deserved. 
Shocked  at  what  he  saw,  he  remained  at  the  door  as  if  paralysed, 
until  his  good  father  came  and  embraced  him  with  tears,  and 
without  being  able  to  utter  a  word,  led  him  to  the  sick  woman’s 
chamber.  Turning  her  languid  eyes  full  upon  him,  she  held 
out  her  hand,  and  drew  him  towards  her  with  all  the  little 
strength  left  her. 

“  The  moment  is  come,  my  lord,”  she  said,  embracing  him, 
“  when  all  dissimulation  must  cease,  and  I  must  declare  to  you 
the  truth  I  have  had  so  much  difficulty  in  concealing  ;  it  is,  that 
if  you  have  had  much  love  for  me,  I  have  had  no  less  for  you. 
But  my  pain  is  greater  than  yours,  because  I  have  been  com¬ 
pelled  to  hide  it.  Conscience  and  honour  have  never  allowed 
me  to  declare  to  you  the  sentiments  of  my  heart,  for  fear  of 
augmenting  in  you  a  passion  which  I  wished  to  diminish.  But 
know,  my  lord,  that  the  no  which  I  have  said  to  you  so  often, 
and  which  it  has  cost  me  so  much  pain  to  pronounce,  is  the  cause 
of  my  death.  I  die  with  satisfaction,  since,  by  God’s  grace, 
notwithstanding  the  excess  of  my  love,  I  have  nothing  to  reproach 
myself  with  in  regard  to  piety  and  honour.  I  say  the  excess  of 
my  love,  for  a  less  tire  than  mine  has  destroyed  greater  and 
stronger  edifices.  I  die  happy,  since,  before  quitting  this  world, 
I  can  declare  my  affection,  which  corresponds  to  yours,  save 
only  that  the  honour  of  men  and  that  of  women  are  not  the  same 
thing.  I  pray  you,  my  lord,  henceforth  not  to  be  afraid  to 
address  yourself  to  the  greatest  and  most  virtuous  ladies  you 
can  ;  for  it  is  hearts  of  that  character  which  have  the  strongest 
passions,  and  which  control  them  most  wisely  ;  and  your  grave, 
good  looks,  and  good  breeding  will  always  enable  you  to  gather 
the  fruits  of  your  love.  I  will  not  ask  you  to  pray  to  God  for 
me,  for  I  know  that  the  gate  of  Paradise  is  not  shut  against  true 
lovers,  and  that  love  is  a  fire  which  punishes  lovers  so  well  in 
this  life  that  they  are  exempted  from  the  sharp  torment  of  pur¬ 
gatory.  And  now,  farewell,  my  lord  ;  I  commend  to  you  your 
good  father,  my  husoand.  Tell  him  truly,  I  beg  you,  what  yo» 


1 88  T7ie  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

know  of  me,  in  order  that  he  may  know  how  much  I  have  loved 
God  and  him.  And  come  no  more  before  my  eyes,  for  hence¬ 
forth  1  wish  to  employ  my  mind  only  in  putting  myself  in  a 
condition  to  receive  the  promises  made  to  me  by  God  before  the 
foundation  of  the  world.” 

So  saying,  she  embraced  him  with  all  the  strength  of  hei 
weak  arms.  M.  D’Avannes,  on  whom  compassion  produced  the 
same  effect  as  pain  and  sickness  in  the  lady,  retired  without 
being  able  to  say  a  word,  and  threw  himself  upon  a  bed  which 
was  in  the  room,  where  he  fainted  several  times.  The  lady  then 
called  her  husband,  and,  after  many  becoming  demonstrations, 
she  recommended  M.  D’Avannes  to  him,  assuring  him  that  next 
to  himself  that  was  the  person  she  had  loved  best  in  the  world. 
Having  kissed  her  husband  she  bade  him  farewell,  and  then  the 
holy  sacrament  of  the  altar  was  brought  her  after  extreme  unc¬ 
tion,  which  she  received  with  joy,  and  an  entire  assurance  of  her 
salvation.  Finding  at  last  that  her  sight  was  leaving  her,  and 
that  her  strength  was  failing,  she  began  to  repeat  aloud  her  In 
manus ,  hearing  which,  M.  D’Avannes  sat  up  in  the  bed,  and  saw 
her  render  up  with  a  gentle  sigh  her  glorious  soul  to  Him  from 
whom  it  came.  When  he  saw  that  she  was  dead,  he  threw  him¬ 
self  upon  the  body,  which  he  had  never  approached  without 
trembling  while  she  lived,  and  embraced  it  so  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  he  was  forced  away  from  it.  The  husband,  who  had 
never  supposed  he  loved  her  so  much,  was  surprised,  and  said, 
“  It  is  too  much,  my  lord.”  And  thereupon  they  withdrew. 

After  they  had  long  deplored,  the  one  his  wife,  the  other  his 
mistress,  M.  D’Avannes  recounted  his  love  to  the  husband,  and 
told  him  that  until  her  death  the  deceased  had  never  shown  him 
any  other  signs  than  those  of  rigid  reserve.  This  increased  the 
husband’s  admiration  for  his  departed  wife,  and  still  more  his 
grief  for  her  loss  and  all  his  life  afterwards  he  rendered  service 
to  M.  D’Avannes.  The  latter,  who  was  then  but  eighteen,  re¬ 
turned  to  the  court,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  would 
speak  to  any  of  the  ladies  there,  or  even  see  them  ;  and  for  more 
than  two  years  he  wore  mourning. 

You  see,  ladies,  what  a  difference  there  is  between  a  chaste 
woman  and  a  wanton.  Then  love,  too,  produced  very  different 
effects  ;  for  the  one  died  a  glorious  death,  and  the  other  lived  but 
too  long  after  the  loss  of  her  reputation  and  her  honour.  As 
much  as  the  death  of  the  saint  is  precious  before  God,  so  is  that 
of  the  sinner  tne  reverse. 


Newel  26.]  Third  Day .  189 

“Truly,  SafTredent,”  said  Oisille,  “anything  finer  than  the 
story  you  have  just  narrated  one  could  not  wish  to  hear  ;  and  if 
the  rest  of  the  company  knew  the  persons  as  I  do,  they  would 
think  it  still  finer,  for  I  never  saw  a  handsomer  gentleman,  or  one 
of  better  deportment,  than  M.  D’Avannes.” 

“  Must  it  not  be  owned,”  replied  SafTredent,  “that  this  was  a 
chaste  and  good  woman,  since,  in  order  to  appear  more  virtuous 
than  she  was  in  reality,  and  to  hide  the  love  which  reason  and 
nature  willed  that  she  should  have  for  so  perfect  a  gentleman, 
she  let  herself  die  for  want  of  giving  herself  the  pleasure  she 
desired  without  owning  it.” 

“If  she  had  felt  that  desire,”  said  Parlamente,  “  she  would  not 
have  Tacked  either  place  or  opportunity  to  reveal  it  ;  but  she  had 
so  much  virtue  that  reason  always  controlled  her  desire.” 

“  You  may  paint  her  portrait  as  you  please,”  said  Hircan  ; 
“but  I  know  that  a  greater  devil  always  drives  out  a  less,  and 
that  the  pride  of  the  ladies  seeks  rather  carnal  pleasure  than  the 
fear  and  love  of  God.  They  are  perpetual  enigmas,  and  they 
are  such  clever  dissemblers  that  it  is  impossible  to  know  what  is 
in  their  hearts.  If  the  world  had  not  annexed  infamy  to  the  loss 
of  their  honour,  it  would  be  universally  found  that  nature  has 
made  them  with  the  same  inclinations  and  the  same  affections  as 
ourselves.  Not  daring  to  take  the  pleasure  they  long  for,  they 
have  changed  that  vice  into  another  which  they  think  more  deco¬ 
rous  :  I  mean  a  cruelty  quite  as  much  pretended  as  real,  by 
which  they  think  to  gain  immortal  renown  ;  and  through  the 
petty  vanity  of  resisting  the  vice  of  nature’s  law  (if  nature  is 
vicious),  they  resemble  not  only  the  brutes  in  cruelty  and  inhu¬ 
manity,  but  even  the  devils,  whose  pride  and  craft  they  borrow.” 

“  It  is  a  pity  you  have  a  good  woman  for  your  wife,”  said 
Nomerfide,  “since,  not  content  with  despising  the  virtue  of  other 
women,  you  would  fain  have  it  believed  that  they  are  all  vicious.” 

“  I  am  very  glad,”  replied  Hircan,  “  to  have  a  wife  who  gives 
no  ground  for  scandal  ;  a  thing  which  I  would  not  do  either ; 
but  as  for  chastity  of  heart,  I  believe  that  she  and  I  are  children 
of  Adam  and  Eve  ;  so,  if  we  examine  ourselves  well,  we  have 
no  business  to  cover  our  nakedness  with  leaves,  but  rather  to 
confess  our  weakness.” 

“  I  know  well,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  we  all  have  need 
of  the  grace  of  God,  being  as  we  are  by  nature  disposed  to  sin  ; 
but  it  must  be  owned,  nevertheless,  that  our  temptations  are  not 
similar  to  yours  :  and  if  we  sin  through  pride,  no  one  suffers  for 
it,  and  neither  our  body  nor  our  hands  receivt  any  stain.  But 


190  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

* 

your  pleasure  consists  in  dishonouring  women,  and  your  glory 
in  killing  men  in  war  ;  which  are  two  things  absolutely  opposed 
to  t'-e  law  of  God.” 

“  I  admit  what  you  say,”  remarked  Geburon  ;  “  but  when  God 
says  that  whoever  looks  upon  a  woman  to  lust  after  her  hath 
already  committed  adultery  in  his  heart ,  and  that  whoever  hateth 
his  neighbour  is  a  homicide ,  do  you  suppose  he  does  not  also 
mean  to  speak  of  women  ?” 

“  God,  who  knoweth  the  heart,  will  decide,”  said  Longarine. 
“Meanwhile,  it  is  always  a  good  thing  that  men  should  have 
no  power  to  accuse  us,  for  God’s  goodness  is  so  great  that  He 
will  not  judge  us  without  an  accuser.  Not  judge  us,  did  I  say  ? 
The  frailty  of  our  hearts  is  so  well  known  to  Him  that  He  will 
give  us  credit  for  not  having  proceeded  to  overt  acts.” 

“  Pray  let  us  drop  this  dispute,”  said  Saffredent.  “  We  aie 
here  to  tell  tales,  not  to  preach  sermons.  I  therefore  give  my 
voice  to  Ennasuite.  and  beg  that  she  will  not  forget  to  make  us 
laugh.’* 

“  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so,”  replied  Ennasuite.  “  On  my  way 
hither  I  was  told  a  story  of  two  servants  of  a  princess,  which 
seemed  to  me  so  droll,  and  made  me  laugh  so  much,  that  I  forgot 
the  dismal  tale  I  had  prepared  for  to-day,  and  which  I  will  post¬ 
pone  until  to-morrow,  my  countenance  being  now  too  merry  to 
make  it  pass  well  with  you  ” 


NOVEL  XXVII. 

Of  s  secretary  who  had  the  impudence  to  solicit  the  favours  of  his  host’s  wife, 

and  had  only  shame  for  his  pains. 

HERE  was  at  Amboise  a  man  who  served  a  princess 
in  the  capacity  of  chamberlain,  and  who,  being  an 
obliging,  civil  person,  gladly  entertained  people  who 
came  to  him,  especially  his  own  comrades.  Not  long 
ago  one  of  his  mistress’s  secretaries  came  to  lodge  with  him, 
and  remained  ten  or  twelve  days.  This  secretary  was  so  ugly 
that  he  was  more  like  a  king  of  the  cannibals  than  a  Christian. 
Though  his  host  treated  him  as  a  friend  and  a  brother,  yet  he 
behaved  to  him  like  a  man  who  had — I  will  not  say  forgotten 
all  decency,  but  who  had  never  had  a  feeling  of  it  in  his  heart : 
this  was,  to  solicit  in  the  way  of  lawless  love  his  companion’s 
wife,  who  not  only  had  nothing  engaging  in  her,  but  looked  the 


Novel  27.J  Third  Day .  191 

very  antidote  of  criminal  pleasure,  and  as  good  and  virtuous  a 
woman  as  any  in  Amboise.  On  becoming  aware  of  the  man’s 
bad  intentions,  the  woman  thought  it  better  to  expose  his  turpi¬ 
tude  than  to  suppress  and  conceal  it  by  a  prompt  and  decisive 
Tefusal  ;  she  therefore  pretended  to  listen  to  his  suit.  He,  think¬ 
ing  that  he  had  made  a  conquest,  pressed  her  incessantly,  without 
considering  that  she  was  fifty,  that  she  was  not  handsome,  and 
that  she  had  the  reputation  of  a  good  woman  who  loved  her 
husband.  One  day  among  others,  when  the  husband  was  at 
home,  and  they  were  in  a  lower  room,  she  pretended  that  the 
only  thing  requisite  was  to  find  a  safe  place  for  a  tete-cl-tete, 
where  they  might  entertain  each  other  as  he  wished.  He  pro¬ 
posed  that  they  should  go  up  to  the  garret.  She  rose  at  once, 
and  begged  him  to  first,  promising  to  follow  him.  He,  laughing 
and  grinning  like  an  amorous  monkey,  went  upstairs  and  posted 
himself  in  the  garret.  Whilst  he  was  waiting  for  what  he  had 
so  hotly  desired,  he  listened  with  all  his  ears  for  his  fair  one’s 
footsteps  ;  but  instead  of  them,  he  heard  her  voice  crying  out, 
“  Wait  a  bit,  master  secretary,  till  I  go  and  ask  my  husband  if  it 
is  his  pleasure  that  I  should  go  to  you.”  Imagine  how  the  man 
looked  in  tears  who  had  cut  such  an  ugly  figure  when  laughing. 
He  hurried  down  stairs  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  begged  her 
for  God’s  sake  to  say  nothing,  and  not  set  her  husband  against 
him.  “  I  am  certain,”  she  replied,  “  that  you  are  too  much  his 
friend  to  wish  to  say  anything  which  might  not  be  repeated  to 
him  ;  so  I  am  going  to  speak  to  him  about  this  matter.”  And 
so  she  did,  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do  to  prevent  her.  He  ran 
away,  and  was  as  much  ashamed  as  the  husband  was  glad  to 
hear  of  the  trick  his  wife  had  played  him.  So  satisfied  was  the 
good  man  with  his  wife’s  virtue,  that  he  gave  himself  no  concern 
about  his  companion’s  villany,  thinking  him  sufficiently  punished 
in  having  the  shame  he  had  intended  for  him  recoil  upon  his 
own  head. 

This  tale  teaches  us,  ladiesi,  that  honest  folk  ought  never  to 
attach  themselves  to  those  who  have  neither  conscience,  heart, 
not  wit  enough  to  know  God,  honour,  and  true  love. 

“  Though  your  tale  be  short,”  said  Oisille,  “  it  is  as  amusing 
as  any  I  have  heard,  and  to  the  honour  of  a  worthy  woman.” 

“It  is  no  great  thing  to  boast  of,”  said  Simontault,  “for  an 
honest  woman  to  refuse  a  man  so  ugly  as  you  represent  this 
secretary  to  have  been.  Had  he  been  handsome  and  well-bred, 
her  conduct  would  then  have  been  some  evidence  of  virtue.  A* 


192  7 he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

I  think  I  know  the  man,  if  it  was  my  turn  to  tell  a  story,  I  think 
I  could  give  you  one  about  him  not  less  droll  than  this.” 

“  Well,  do  so,”  said  Ennasuite. 

“  Courtiers,  and  inhabitants  of  great  cities,”  he  continued, 
**  have  such  a  good  opinion  of  their  own  capacity  that  they 
regard  others  as  very  small  folk  in  comparison  with  themselves. 
Though  craft  and  cunning  are  of  all  countries  and  all  conditions, 
yet  as  those  who  think  themselves  the  shrewdest  do  so  only 
through  vanity,  they  are  only  the  more  laughed  at  when  they 
happen  to  make  some  mistake,  as  I  shall  instance  to  you  in  an 
affair  of  recent  occurrence.” 


NOVEL  XXVIII. 

A  secretary,  thinking  to  dupe  a  certain  person,  was  himself  duped. 

HEN  King  Francis  I.  was  at  Paris  with  his  sister  the 
Queen  of  Navarre,  that  princess  had  a  secretary  named 
Jean,  who  was  not  one  of  those  who  let  anything  worth 
having  be  lost  for  want  of  picking  it  up.  There  was 
neither  president  nor  counsellor  with  whom  he  was  not  acquainted, 
merchant  nor  rich  man  whose  house  he  did  not  frequent.  At  the 
same  time  there  also  arrived  in  Paris  a  merchant  of  Bayonne, 
named  Bernard  du  Ha,  who,  having  business  in  hand,  and  being 
in  need  of  protection,  addressed  himself  to  the  lieutenant  crimiitel , 
who  was  of  his  country.  The  Queen  of  Navarre’s  secretary  used 
also  to  go  frequently  to  see  the  same  person,  as  a  good  servant  of 
his  master  and  mistress.  One  holiday,  when  he  went  to  the 
house,  he  found  neither  the  lieutenant  nor  his  lady  at  home  ;  but 
there  was  Bernard  du  Ha,  playing  a  viol  or  some  other  instru¬ 
ment  for  the  servant-women  of  the  house,  and  teaching  them  to 
dance  the  branles  of  Gascony.  When  the  secretary  saw  this,  he 
wanted  to  make  Bernard  believe  that  he  was  doing  wrong,  and 
that  if  the  lieutenant  and  his  lady  knew  of  it  they  would  be  very 
angry.  Having  talked  to  him  in  so  alarming  a  manner  that  the 
other  begged  him  not  to  tell  what  he  had  seen,  he  said,  “What 
will  you  give  me  not  to  say  a  word  about  it  ?”  Barnard  du 
Ha,  who  was  not  so  frightened  as  he  made  believe,  perceiving 
that  the  secretary  wanted  to  dupe  him,  promised  to  give  him  a 
pasty  of  the  best  Basque  ham  he  had  ever  eaten.  The  secretary 
was  highly  pleased,  and  begged  that  he  might  have  the  pasty 
on  the  following  Sunday  after  dinner,  which  the  other  pro¬ 
mised. 


Now/  28.]  Third  Da y.  1 93 

Counting  on  this  promise,  the  secretary  went  to  see  a  lady  01 
Paris,  whom  he  passionately  desired  to  marry,  and  said  to  her, 
«•  On  Sunday,  madam,  I  will  come  and  sup  with  you,  if  you 
please  ;  but  do  not  trouble  yourseif  about  anything  but  good 
bread  and  good  wine,  for  I  have  so  gulled  a  stupid  fellow  of 
Bayonne,  that  he  will  be  at  the  cost  of  the  rest  :  I  will  bring  you 
the  best  Basque  ham  that  ever  was  tasted  in  Paris.”  The  lady, 
taking  his  word  for  it,  invited  two  or  three  of  her  fair  neigh¬ 
bours,  and  assured  them  she  would  treat  them  to  something  they 
had  never  tasted  before.  Sunday  being  come,  the  secretary  went 
in  quest  of  the  merchant,  and  found  him  at  the  Pont  au  Change. 
Saluting  him  very  politely,  he  said,  “To  the  devil  with  you  for 
having  given  me  such  trouble  to  find  you.” 

“  Many  a  one  has  taken  more  trouble  than  you,”  replied 
Bernard  du  Ha,  “  and  has  not  been  so  well  rewarded  in  the 
end.”  So  saying,  he  produced  the  pasty,  which  he  had  under 
his  cloak,  and  which  was  big  enough  to  set  before  a  small 
army.  The  secretary  was  so  pleased  that,  although  he  had  an 
enormous  ugly  mouth,  he  squeezed  it  up  so  small  that  one  would 
have  thought  he  could  not  bite  the  ham.  Hastily  clutching  the 
pasty,  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  merchant  without  inviting 
him  to  partake  of  the  treat,  and  carried  it  to  his  mistress,  who 
was  very  curious  to  know  if  the  eatables  of  Guienne  were  as 
good  as  those  of  Paris.  Supper-time  being  come,  the  company 
began  to  fall  to  at  the  soup  with  much  vigour.  “  Leave  those 
insipid  things,”  said  the  secretary,  “and  let  us  taste  this  whet 
for  wine.”  So  saying,  he  opened  the  pasty,  and  set  about 
cutting  the  ham,  but  it  was  so  hard  that  he  could  not  stick  the 
knife  into  it.  After  trying  again  and  again,  he  found  that  he 
was  hoaxed,  and  that  instead  of  a  ham  he  had  been  given  a 
wooden  shoe,  such  as  is  worn  in  Gascony,  with  a  stick  thrust 
into  the  end  of  it,  and  the  whole  smeared  with  suet  and  pow¬ 
dered  with  rust  of  iron  and  spices,  which  gave  out  a  very  pleasant 
odour.  The  secretary  was  greatly  ashamed  both  of  having 
been  duped  by  the  person  he  thought  to  dupe,  and  having 
deluded  his  mistress,  contrary  to  his  intentions  ;  to  say  nothing 
of  his  sore  disappointment  at  having  to  content  himself  with 
soup  for  supper.  The  ladies,  who  were  as  vexed  as  himself, 
would  have  accused  him  as  the  author  of  the  trick  if  they  had 
not  seen  by  his  face  that  he  was  anything  but  pleased  with  its 
success. 

After  making  a  light  supper,  the  secretary  retired  in  great 
dudgeon,  and  seeing  that  Bernard  du  Ha  had  nut  t  ept  his  word, 

o 


194  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

he  did  not  think  himself  bound  by  his  own.  Accordingly  he 
went  to  the  lientena7it  criminel,  intending  to  say  everything  bad 
he  could  of  the  merchant ;  but  the  latter  had  been  beforehand 
with  him,  and  had  already  related  the  adventure  to  the  lieutenant, 
who  laughed  in  the  secretary’s  face,  and  told  him  that  he  had 
learned  to  his  cost  what  it  was  to  play  tricks  on  Gascons.  And 
so  all  he  got  was  the  shame  of  having  been  the.  dupe  of  his  own 
cunning. 

The  same  thing  happens  to  many,  who,  wishing  to  deceive, 
find  themselves  deceived.  Therefore  it  is  best  to  do  to  others 
only  as  we  would  be  done  by. 

“  I  assure  you,”  said  Geburon,  “  that  I  have  often  witnessed 
such  occurrences  ;  and  those  who  pass  for  village  boobies  often 
overreach  persons  who  think  themselves  very  clever  ;  for  there  is 
no  greater  ninny  than  a  man  who  thinks  himself  cunning,  nor 
any  one  wiser  than  he  who  knows  that  he  is  not  so.” 

“He  who  knows  his  own  incapacity,  knows  something,  after 
all,”  said  Parlamente, 

“  For  fear  time  should  fail  us,  I  give  my  voice  to  Nomerfide,” 
said  Simontault.  “I  am  sure  she  will  not  delay  us  long  by  her 
rhetoric.” 

“You  shall  have  from  me  the  satisfaction  you  desire,”  said 
Nomerfide.  “  I  am  not  surprised,  ladies,  if  love  inspires  princes 
and  well-educated  persons  with  the  art  of  extricating  themselves 
from  danger.  In  fact,  they  are  brought  up  in  intercourse  with 
so  many  persons  of  knowledge,  that  it  would  be  very  surprising 
if  they  were  ignorant  of  anything.  But  address  in  love  appears 
with  much  greater  lustre  when  those  who  display  it  are  persons 
of  less  intelligence.  I  shall,  then,  relate  to  you  a  piece  of  clever¬ 
ness  exhibited  by  a  priest  through  the  prompting  of  love  alone 
for  he  was  so  ignorant  in  all  other  things,  that  he  could  hardly 
lay  mass." 


Novel  29.] 


Third  Day . 


*95 


NOVEL  XXIX. 

A  villager,  whose  wife  intrigued  with  the  parish  priest,  suffered  himself  to  be 

easily  deceived. 

HERE  was  at  Carrelles,  a  village  in  the  county  of  Maine, 
a  rich  husbandman,  who  in  his  old  age  married  a  hand¬ 
some  young  wife,  by  whom  he  had  no  children  ;  but 
she  consoled  herself  for  this  disappointment  with 
several  friends.  When  gentlemen  and  persons  of  mark  failed 
her,  she  reverted  to  her  last  resource,  which  was  the  church, 
and  chose  for  the  accomplice  of  her  sin  him  who  could  absolve 
her — that  is  to  say,  her  priest,  who  paid  frequent  visits  to  his 
sheep.  The  dull  old  husband  suspected  nothing  ;  but  as  he  was 
a  rough  and  sturdy  old  fellow,  she  played  her  game  as  secretly 
as  she  could,  being  afraid  that  her  husband  would  kill  her  if  he 
came  to  know  of  it. 

One  day,  when  the  husband  was  gone  into  the  fields,  and  his 
wife  did  not  expect  him  back  for  some  time,  she  sent  for  master 
parson  to  confess  her  ;  but  during  the  time  they  were  making 
good  cheer  together  the  husband  arrived  so  suddenly  that  the 
priest  had  not  time  to  steal  off.  Intending,  then,  to  hide,  he 
went  by  the  wife’s  directions  up  into  a  loft,  and  covered  the  trap- 
hole  in  the  floor  by  wh  ch  he  had  got  in  with  a  winnowing 
basket.  Meanwhile  the  wife,  who  was  afraid  her  husband  might 
suspect  something,  regaled  him  well  at  dinner,  and  plied  him  so 
well  with  wine,  that  the  good  man,  having  taken  a  little  drop  too 
much,  and  being  fatigued  with  walking,  fell  asleep  in  a  chair  by 
the  fireside.  The  priest,  who  found  it  dull  work  waiting  in  the 
loft,  on  ceasing  to  hear  any  noise  in  the  room  below,  leaned  over 
the  trap-hole,  and  stretching  out  his  neck  as  far  as  he  could,  saw 
that  the  good  man  was  asleep.  But  while  making  his  observa¬ 
tions  he  inadvertently  leaned  with  so  much  weight  on  the  win¬ 
nowing  basket,  that  down  fell  basket,  priest  and  all,  by  the  side 
of  the  good  man,  and  woke  him  up  with  the  noise.  But  ihe 
priest  was  on  his  legs  before  the  other  had  opened  his  eyes,  and 
said,  “  There’s  your  winnowing  basket,  gossip,  and  I’m  much 
obliged  to  you  and  so  saying,  he  walked  off.  The  poor  hus¬ 
bandman,  quite  bewildered,  asked  his  wife  what  was  the  matter  ? 
“  It  is  your  winnowing  basket,  my  dear,”  she  replied,  **  which 
the  priest  had  borrowed  and  has  now  returned.” 

“  It  is  a  very  clumsy  way  of  returning  what  one  has  borrowed,” 
said  the  good  man,  grumbling,  “for  I  thought  the  house  was 
falling.” 


196  The  Heptcimcron  of  the  Quecen  of  Navarre. 

In  this  way  the  priest  saved  himself  at  the  expense  of  the  hus¬ 
bandman,  who  objected  to  nothing  but  the  abrupt  manner  in 
which  his  reverence  had  returned  his  winnowing  basket.  The 
master  he  served,  ladies,  saved  him  for  that  time,  in  order  to 
possess  and  torment  him  longer. 

“  Do  not  imagine  that  simple  folk  are  more  exempt  from  craft 
than  we  are,”  said  Geburon  ;  “  far  from  it,  they  have  a  great  deal 
more.  Look  at  thieves,  murderers,  sorcerers,  false  coiners,  and 
other  people  of  that  sort,  whose  wits  are  always  at  work  ;  they 
are  all  simple  folk.” 

“  I  am  not  surprised  that  they  have  more  craft  than  others," 
said  Parlamente,  ‘  but  I  am  surprised  that,  having  their  wits 
directed  to  so  many  other  things,  they  can  think  of  love.  Is  it 
not  strange  that  so  fine  a  passion  can  enter  such  vulgar  hearts  ?" 

“You  know,  madam,  what  Maitre  Jean  de  Meun  says: — 

Aussi  bien  sont  amourettes 
Sous  bureau  que  sous  brunettes. 

Besides,  the  love  of  which  the  tale  speaks  is  not  that  which 
makes  one  wear  harness.  The  poor,  who  have  not  wealth  and 
honours  like  us,  have  in  compensation  more  of  the  commodities 
of  nature.  Their  viands  are  not  so  delicate  as  ours,  but  good 
appetite  makes  amends  for  that  deficiency,  and  they  fare  better 
on  coarse  bread  than  we  on  dainties.  Their  beds  are  not  so 
handsome  or  so  well  made  as  ours,  but  their  sleep  is  sounder. 
Their  ladies  are  neither  painted  nor  decked  out  like  ours  whom 
we  idolise,  but  they  receive  pleasure  from  them  much  oftener  than 
we,  without  fearing  any  other  tongues  than  those  of  the  beasts 
and  birds  that  see  them.  In  a  word,  they  lack  what  we  have, 
and  have  abundance  of  what  we  have  not.” 

“  Pray  let  us  have  done  with  this  peasant  and  his  wife,”  said 
Nomerfide,  “and  finish  the  day  before  vespers.  It  is  for  Hircan 
to  do  so.’* 

“  I  will  finish  it,  then,  with  a  very  dismal  tale,”  said  Hircan. 
“  Though  I  do  not  willingly  speak  ill  of  ladies,  knowing  as  I  do 
that  men  are  malicious  enough  to  deduce  from  the  fault  of  one 
conclusions  disparaging  to  all  the  rest,  yet  the  singularity  of  the 
adventure  overcomes  my  fear,  and  the  exposure  of  ignorance  will 
perhaps  make  others  wiser.” 


Nrvd  30.J 


Third,  Day. 


i97 


NOVEL  XXX. 

Frailty  ol  a  lady  who,  to  conceal  one  evil,  commits  another  still  greater. 

HEN  Louis  XII.  was  king,  the  legate  at  Avignon  being 
then  a  lord  of  the  house  of  Amboise,  nephew  to  the 
legate  of  France,  whose  name  was  George,  there  was 
a  lady  in  Languedoc  who  had  an  income  of  more  than 
four  thousand  ducats.  Her  name  I  will  not  mention,  for  sake 
of  her  relations.  She  was  still  very  young  when  her  hus¬ 
band  died,  leaving  her  but  one  son  ;  and  whether  from  regret 
for  her  husband,  or  love  of  her  son,  she  resolved  never  to  marry 
again.  To  avoid  all  occasion  for  doing  so,  she  frequented  only 
the  society  of  the  devout,  thinking  that  opportunity  makes  sin, 
and  r.ot  knowing  that  sin  forges  opportunity.  She  gave  herself 
up  wholly  to  the  divine  service,  shunning  all  parties  of  pleasure, 
and  everything  worldly,  insomuch  that  she  made  it  a  matter  of 
conscience  to  be  present  at  a  wedding,  or  to  hear  the  organ 
played  in  church.  When  her  son  was  seven  years  old,  she  chose 
a  man  of  holy  life  as  his  preceptor,  to  bring  him  up  in  piety  ana 
sanctity.  But  when  he  was  between  fourteen  and  f  fteen,  nature, 
who  is  a  very  mysterious  scnoolmaster,  finding  him  well  grown 
and  idle,  taught  him  a  very  different  lesson  from  any  he  had 
learned  from  his  preceptor  ;  for  under  that  new  instruction  he 
began  to  look  upon  and  desire  such  things  as  seemed  to  him  fair 
and  among  others  a  demoiselle  who  slept  in  his  mother’s  room.  Nc 
one  had  the  least  suspicion  of  this,  for  he  was  regarded  as  a  child, 
and  nothing  was  ever  heard  in  the  house  but  goodly  discourse. 

The  young  gallant  having  begun  secretly  to  solicit  this  girl, 
she  went  and  told  her  mistress.  The  mother  loved  her  son  so 
much,  that  she  believed  this  to  be  a  story  told  to  get  him  into 
disgrace  ;  but  the  girl  repeated  her  complaints  so  often  that  her 
mistress  at  last  said  she  would  find  out  the  truth  of  the  matter  : 
if  it  was  as  the  girl  stated,  she  would  punish  her  son  severely,  but 
if  not,  the  accuser  should  pay  the  penalty.  In  order,  then,  to 
come  at  the  truth,  she  ordered  the  demoiselle  to  make  an  appoint¬ 
ment  with  the  young  gentleman  that  he  should  come  to  her  al 
midnight,  to  the  bed  in  which  she  lay  alone  near  the  door  in  his 
mother’s  chamber.  The  demoiselle  obeyed  her  orders,  and  that 
night  the  mother  lay  down  in  the  demoiselle’s  bed,  resolving  that 
if  her  son  came  thither  she  would  chastise  him  in  such  a  manner 
that  he  should  never  lie  with  a  woman  without  remembering  it. 
Such  were  her  angry  thoughts  when  her  son  actually  entered  the 
bed  in  which  she  lay  ;  but  unable  still  to  bring  herself  to  believe 


198  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

that  he  had  any  unchaste  intention,  she  waited  for  some  plainer 
evidence  of  his  bad  purpose  before  she  would  speak  to  him.  But 
she  waited  so  long,  and  nature  is  so  frail,  that  her  anger  ended  in 
an  abominable  pleasure,  and  she  forgot  that  she  was  a  mother. 
A.s  water  retained  by  force  is  more  impetuous  when  let  loose,  so 
was  it  with  this  unfortunate  woman,  who  made  her  whole  pride 
consist  in  the  violence  she  did  her  body.  When  she  began  to 
descend  the  first  step  from  her  chastity  she  found  herself  at  once 
at  the  bottom,  and  became  pregnant  that  night  by  him  whom  she 
wished  to  hinder  from  getting  others  with  child. 

No  sooner  was  the  sin  committed  than  she  was  seized  with  the 
most  poignant  remorse,  and  her  repentance  lasted  as  long  as  her 
life.  So  keen  was  her  anguish  on  rising  from  beside  her  son, 
who  never  discovered  his  mistake,  that  entering  a  closet,  and 
calling  to  mind  the  firm  resolution  she  had  formed,  and  which 
she  had  so  badly  executed,  she  passed  the  whole  night  alone  in 
an  agony  of  tears.  But  instead  of  humbling  herself,  and  owning 
that  of  ourselves  alone,  and  without  the  aid  of  God,  we  can  do 
nothing  but  sin,  she  thought  by  her  own  efforts  and  by  her  tears 
to  repair  the  past  and  prevent  future  mischief,  always  imputing 
her  sin  to  the  occasion,  and  not  to  wickedness,  for  which  there  is 
no  remedy  but  the  grace  of  God.  As  if  there  was  but  one  sort 
of  sin  which  could  bring  damnation,  she  applied  her  whole  mind 
to  avoid  that  one  ;  but  pride,  which  the  sense  of  extreme  sinful¬ 
ness  should  destroy,  was  too  strongly  rooted  in  her  heart,  and 
grew  in  such  a  manner,  that,  to  avoid  one  evil,  she  committed 
many  others. 

Early  next  morning  she  sent  for  her  son’s  governor,  and  said 
to  him,  “  My  son  is  coming  to  maturity,  and  it  is  time  that  he 
should  be  removed  from  the  house.  One  of  my  relations,  who  is 
beyond  the  mountains  with  the  Grand  Master  of  Chaumont,  will 
be  glad  to  have  him.  Take  him  away,  then,  forthwith  :  and  to 
spare  me  the  pain  of  parting,  do  not  let  him  come  to  bid  me 
farewell.”  Without  more  ado  she  gave  him  money  for  the 
journey,  and  he  set  out  the  next  day  with  his  pupil,  who  was  very 
glad  of  it  ;  and  having  had  what  he  wanted  of  his  mistress, 
desired  nothing  better  than  to  go  to  the  wars.  The  lady  was  long 
plunged  in  extreme  grief,  and  but  for  the  fear  of  God  she  could 
have  wished  that  the  unhappy  fruit  of  her  womb  should  perish. 
To  conceal  her  fault  she  pretended  to  be  ill  ;  and  having  a  bas¬ 
tard  brother  in  whom  she  confided  above  all  men,  and  to  whom 
she  had  made  large  donations,  she  sent  for  him,  informed  him  of 
the  misfortune  that  had  happened  to  her,  but  not  of  her  son’s 


Novel  30.]  Third  Day.  199 

share  in  it,  and  begged  him  to  save  her  honour  by  his  help,  which 
he  did.  Some  days  before  she  expected  to  be  confined  he  ad¬ 
vised  her  to  try  change  of  air,  and  remove  to  his  house,  where 
she  would  be  more  likely  to  recover  than  at  home.  She  went 
thither  with  hardly  any  attendants,  and  found  there  a  midwife, 
who  had  been  sent  for  as  if  to  attend  her  brother’s  wife,  and  who, 
without  knowing  the  lying-in  woman,  delivered  her  by  night  of  a 
fine  little  girl.  The  gentleman  put  the  infant  out  to  nurse  as  his 
own  ;  and  the  lady,  after  a  month’s  stay,  returned  home,  where 
she  lived  more  austerely  than  ever. 

Her  son  being  grown  up,  and  Italy  being  at  peace,  he  sent  to 
beg  his  mother’s  permission  to  return  to  her.  But  as  she  was 
afraid  of  relapsing  into  the  same  crime,  she  put  him  off  from  time 
to  time  as  well  as  she  could  ;  but  he  pressed  her  so  much,  that  at 
last  she  gave  him  leave  to  come  home,  having  no  plausible  reason 
to  allege  for  persisting  longer  in  her  refusal.  She  sent  him  word, 
however,  not  to  appear  before  her  until  he  was  married  ;  to  choose 
a  wife  whom  he  loved  passionately  ;  and  not  to  let  his  choice  be 
determined  by  wealth,  for  if  he  chose  a  comely  wife  that  was 
enough. 

During  this  time  the  daughter,  who  had  been  left  with  the 
bastard  brother,  having  grown  up  into  a  very  handsome  girl,  her 
guardian  thought  of  removing  her  to  some  pl'ace  where  she  should 
not  be  known.  He  consulted  the  mother  on  the  subject,  and  it 
was  her  wish  that  she  should  be  given  to  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 
named  Catherine.  The  girl  was  so  handsome  and  well-bred  at 
the  age  of  thirteen,  that  the  Queen  of  Navarre  had  a  great  regard 
for  her,  and  wished  much  to  marry  her  well  ;  but  the  girl  being 
poor,  many  lovers  presented  themselves,  but  no  husband.  The 
unknown  father,  returning  from  Italy,  visited  the  court  of  the 
Queen  of  Navarre,  and  no  sooner  saw  his  daughter  than  he  fell 
in  love  with  her.  As  he  had  h;s  mother’s  permission  to  marry 
any  woman  he  liked,  he  only  asked  was  she  of  noble  lineage, 
and  being  told  that  she  was  he  demanded  her  in  marriage  of  the 
Queen  of  Navarre,  who  very  gladly  bestowed  her  upon  him, 
knowing  well  that  the  cavalier  was  as  wealthy  as  he  was  well- 
bred  and  handsome, 

The  marriage  having  been  consummated,  the  gentleman  wrote 
to  his  mother,  saying  she  could  no  longer  close  her  doors  against 
him,  since  he  brought  with  him  a  wife  as  handsome  and  as  per¬ 
fect  as  she  could  wish  for.  His  mother  made  inquiries  as  to  the 
wife  he  had  taken,  and  found  that  it  was  their  own  daughter, 
which  caused  her  such  excessive  affliction,  that  she  was  near 


200  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

dying1  suddenly,  seeing  that  the  means  she  employed  to  put  a  stop 
to  the  course  of  her  misfortune  only  served  to  make  it  greater. 
Finding  no  remedy  for  what  had  occurred,  she  went  to  the 
Legate  of  Avignon,  confessed  the  enormity  of  her  crime,  and 
asked  his  advice.  The  legate,  to  satisfy  her  conscience,  sum¬ 
moned  several  theologians,  to  whom  he  submitted  the  affair 
without  naming  the  person  concerned.  The  decision  of  this 
council  of  conscience  was,  that  the  lady  was  never  to  reveal  the 
secret  to  her  children,  who  had  not  sinned,  inasmuch  as  they 
had  known  nothing  ;  but  that,  as'for  herself,  she  was  to  do  penance 
all  her  life.  So  the  poor  lady  returned  home,  where  soon  after 
arrived  her  son  and  her  daughter-in-law,  who  loved  each  other  so 
much,  that  never  was  there  a  fonder  couple,  or  one  more  like 
each  other,  she  being  his  daughter,  sister  and  wife;  and  he  her 
father,  brother,  and  husband.  Their  love  continued  unabated  to 
the  last,  whilst  their  profoundly  penitent  mother  never  saw  them 
caress  but  she  withdrew  to  weep.* 

*  This  novel  is  founded  on  a  popular  tradition,  traces  of  which  are  found  in 
several  places  in  France.  Millin,  in  his  Antiquitds  Nationales,  speaking  of 
the  collegial  church  of  Ecouis,  says  :  “  There  was  found  in  the  middle  of  the 
nave,  in  the  cross  aisle,  a  white  marble  slab,  on  which  was  inscribed  this 
epitaph  : 

‘Ci-git  l’enfant,  ci-git  le  p6re, 

Ci-git  la  soeur,  ci-git  le  frere, 

Ci-glt  la  femme  et  le  mari, 

Et  ne  sont  que  deux  corps  ici.  * " 

[Here  lies  the  child,  here  lies  the  father,  here  lies  the  sister,  here  lies  tha 
brother,  here  lie  the  wife  and  the  husband,  and  there  are  but  two  bodies  here.] 

“The  tradition  is,  that  a  son  of  Madame  d'Ecouis  had  by  his  mother,  wit  ho  it 
knowing  her  or  being  recognised  by  her,  a  daughter  named  C^cile.  He 
afterwards  married  in  Lorraine  that  same  Cecile,  she  being  then  with  the 
Duchess  of  Bar.  Thus  Cecile  was  her  husband’s  daughter  and  sister.  They 
were  interred  in  the  same  grave  at  Ecouis,  in  1512.”  Millin  says  that  the  same 
storv  is  told  (but  with  modifications)  in  other  churches  of  France  ;  for  instance, 
in  that  of  Alincourt,  a  village  between  Amiens  and  Abbeville,  is  seen  the 
following  epitaph  : 

“  Ci-git  le  fils,  ci-git  la  mere, 

Ci-git  la  fille  avec  le  pere, 

Ci-git  la  soeur,  ci-git  le  frere, 

Ci-git  la  femme  et  le  mari, 

Et  ne  sont  que  trois  corps  ici.’* 

[Here  lies  the  son,  here  lies  the  mother,  here  lies  the  daughter  with  the 
father,  h=i  e  lies  the  sister,  here  lies  the  brother,  here  lie  the  wife  and  the  husband, 
and  there  are  only  three  bodies  here.] 


201 


Novel  30.]  Third  Day. 

There,  ladies,  is  what  happens  to  those  of  your  sex  who  think 
to  vanquish,  by  their  own  strength,  love  and  nature  with  all  the 
faculties  which  God  has  given  them.  Better  were  it  to  own  their 
weakness,  avoid  exposure  to  temptation,  and  say  to  God,  like 
David,  “  Lord  I  suffer  force  :  answer  for  me.” 

“  Itt  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  stranger  case,”  said  Oisille. 
“Methinks  there  is  no  man  or  woman  who  ought  not  to  humble 
himself  and  fear  God,  seeing  how  the  hope  of  doing  a  good  thing 
was  so  productive  of  mischief.” 

Gaspard  Meturas,  who  has  inserted  this  epitaph  in  his  Hortus  Epitaphiorvm 
Selectorum,  1648,  says  that  it  is  found  in  a  church  of  Claremont,  in  Auvergne, 
and  adds:  “The  key  to  it  consists  in  saying  that  the  mother  engendered  her 
husband  by  lying  with  [en  epousant )  her  own  father  ;  for  it  thence  follows  that 
he  was  her  son,  her  brother,  and  her  husband,  even  legitimately,  the  marriage 
having  been  effected  with  a  righteous  ignorance  on  both  sides. 

Dunlop,  in  his  History  of  Fiction,  says  that  the  thirty-fifth  novel  of  the 
second  part  of  Bandello  “  is  the  same  story  with  the  plot  of  the  Mysterious 
Mother  of  Horace  Walpole,  and  the  thirtieth  tale  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 
The  first  part  of  this  story  had  already  been  told  in  the  twenty-third  novel  of 
Massuccio.  The  second  part,  which  relates  to  the  marriage  only,  occurs  in 
Bandello  and  the  Queen  of  Navarre.  It  is  not  likely,  however,  that  the  French 
or  Italian  novelists  borrowed  from  one  another.  The  tales  of  Bandello  were 
first  published  in  1554,  and  as  the  Queen  of  Navarre  died  in  1549,  it  is  im¬ 
probable  that  she  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  them.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
*-ork  of  the  queen  was  not  printed  till  1558,  nine  years  after  her  death,  so  it  is 
not  likely  that  any  part  of  it  was  copied  by  Bandello,  whose  tales  had 
been  edited  some  years  before.  It  may  therefore  be  presumed  that  some 
current  traditions  furnished  both  with  the  horrible  incident  they  report. 
Indeed,  Bandello  declares,  in  the  introduction  to  the  tale,  that  it  happened 
in  Navarre,  and  was  told  to  him  by  a  lady  of  that  country.  In  Luther's 
Colloquia  Mensalia,  under  the  article  Auricular  Confession,  it  is  said  to  have 
occurred  at  Erfurt,  in  Germany.  It  is  also  related  in  the  eleventh  volume  of 
Byshop’s  Blossoms,  and  in  L’Inceste  Innocent,  a  novel  by  Desfontaines,  pub¬ 
lished  in  1638.  Julio  de  Medrano,  an  old  Spanish  writer  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  says  that  he  heard  a  similar  story  when  he  was  in  the  Bourbonnais, 
where  the  inhabitants  showed  him  the  house  in  which  the  parties  had  lived,  and 
repeated  to  him  this  epitaph,  which  was  inscribed  on  their  tomb  ”  (that  in  four 
lines  quoted  above).  “Mr.  Walpole  disclaims  having  had  any  knowledge  of 
the  tale  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre  or  Bandello  when  he  wrote  his  drama.  Its 
plot,  he  says,  was  suggested  by  a  story  he  had  heard  when  very  young,  of  a 
lady  who,  under  uncommon  agonies  of  mind,  waited  on  Archbishop  Tillotson> 
revealed  her  crime,  and  besought  his  counsel  in  what  manner  she  should  act, 
as  the  fruit  of  her  horrible  artifice  had  lately  been  married  to  her  son,  neither 
party  being  aware  of  the  relation  that  subsisted  between  them.  The  prelate 
charged  her  never  to  let  her  son  or  daughter  know  what  had  passed.  Fcr 
herself,  he  bade  her  almost  despair  ” 


202 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Nava?' re. 

"  Be  assured,”  said  Parlamente,  “that  the  first  step  man  takes 
in  self-confidence,  removes  him  so  far  from  the  confidence  he 
ought  to  have  in  God.” 

“  Man  is  wise,”  said  Geburon,  “  when  he  recognises  no  greater 
enemy  than  himself,  and  distrusts  his  own  will  and  counsel,  how¬ 
ever  good  and  holy  they  may  see  n  in  his  e)es.” 

“For  no  apparent  prospect  >»f  good  to  come  of  it,  however 
great,”  said  Longarine.  “  should  a  woman  expose  herself  to  share 
the  same  bed  with  a  man,  however  nearly  related  to  her.  Fire 
and  tow  are  no  safe  neighbours. 

“  Assuredly,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  this  woman  was  a  conceited 
fool,  who  thought  herself  such  a  saint  that  she  could  not  sin,  as 
some  would  have  simple  folks  believe  of  them,  which  is  a  gross 
and  pernicious  error.” 

“  Is  it  possible,”  exclaimed  Oisille,  “that  there  are  people  so 
foolish  as  to  believe  anything  of  the  sort?” 

“They  do  still  more,”  said  Longarine;  “  they  say  that  it  is* 
necessary  to  habituate  oneself  to  chastity  ;  and  to  try  their 
strength,  they  talk  with  the  handsomest  women  and  those  they 
love  best,  and  by  kissing  and  touching  them  make  trial  of 
themselves  as  to  whether  or  not  they  are  in  a  condition  of 
complete  mortification  of  the  flesh.  When  they  find  that  this 
pleasure  moves  them,  they  fall  back  on  solitude,  fasting,  and 
discipline  ;  and  when  they  have  so  subdued  the  flesh  that  neither 
conversation  nor  kissing  causes  them  any  emotion,  the  fools  try 
the  temptation  of  lying  together  and  embracing  without  any 
voluptuous  desire.  But,  for  one  who  resists,  a  thousand  succumb. 
Thence  have  ensued  so  many  mischiefs,  that  the  Archbishop  of 
Milan,  where  this  religious  practice  was  introduced,  was  com¬ 
pelled  to  separate  the  sexes,  and  put  the  women  into  the  women’s 
convent,  and  the  men  into  that  of  the  men.” 

“  Was  there  ever  a  more  extravagant  folly  ?”  said  Geburon, 

“  A  man  wants  to  make  himself  sinless,  and  seeks  with  avidity 
provocations  to  sin.” 

“  Some  there  are,”  said  Saffredent,  “  who  do  quite  the  reverse  ; 
they  shun  temptation  as  much  as  possible,  and  yet  concupiscence 
clings  to  them  everywhere.  The  good  Saint  Jerome,  after  having 
soundly  flogged  and  hid  himself  in  the  desert,  confessed  that  he 
had  been  unable  to  overcome  the  fire  of  lust  that  burned  in  his 
marrow.  The  sovereign  remedy,  then,  is  to  commend  oneself  to 
God  ;  for,  unless  He  upholds  us  by  His  power,  His  virtue,  and 
His  goodness,  we  not  only  fall,  but  take  pleasure  in  falling.” 

“You  do  not  see  what  I  do,”  said  Hircan  ;  “which  is,  that 


Novel  30.]  Third  Day.  203 

whilst  we  were  telling  our  stories  the  monks  who  were  behind 
that  hedge  did  not  hear  the  vesper-bell  ;  but  no  sooner  did  they 
hear  us  talk  of  God  than  away  they  went,  and  now  they  are 
ringing  the  second  bell.” 

“  We  shall  do  well  to  follow  them,”  said  Oisille,  “  and  praise 
God  for  his  grace  in  enabling  us  to  pass  this  day  so  happily.” 

Upon  this  the  whole  company  rose  and  went  to  the  church, 
where  they  devoutly  heard  vespers.  At  supper  they  talked  over 
the  conversation  of  the  day,  and  many  things  which  had  occurred 
in  the  time,  each  citing  what  he  thought  most  worthy  of  recollec¬ 
tion.  After  a  cheerful  evening,  they  retired  to  their  beds,  in  the 
hope  of  resuming  next  day  a  pastime  which  was  so  agreeable  to 
them.  Thus  ended,  the  third  day. 


904 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 


% 


FOURTH  DAY. 

ADAME  OISILLE  rose  earlier  than  the  rest,  according 
to  her  good  custom,  and  meditated  on  Holy  Writ  whilst 
awaiting  the  gradual  assemblage  of  the  company.  The 
laziest  excused  themselves  with  the  words  of  Scrip¬ 
ture,  “  I  have  a  wife,  and  I  cannot  come  so  soon.”  Thus  it  was 
that  when  Hircan  and  his  wi^  made  their  appearance,  Madame 
Oisille  had  already  begun  her  reading  ;  but  she  knew  how  to 
pick  out  the  passages  in  which  those  are  censured  who  neglect 
the  hearing  of  the  Word.  She  not  only  read  the  text,  but  she 
made  them  such  good  and  holy  exhortations  that  it  was  impos¬ 
sible  for  them  to  take  offence  at  them.  When  these  devotional 
exercises  were  ended,  Parlamente  said  to  her,  “  I  was  vexed 
when  I  came  in  at  having  been  lazy,  but  I  now  congratulate 
myself  on  my  laziness,  since  it  has  made  you  speak  so  well.  I 
derive  a  double  advantage  from  it — repose  of  body  and  satisfac¬ 
tion  of  mind.” 

“  For  penance,  then,  let  us  go  to  mass,”  said  Oisille,  “  to 
pray  to  our  Lord  for  the  will  and  the  strength  to  do  His  com¬ 
mands ;  and  then  let  Him  command  what  he  pleases.” 

As  she  said  these  words  they  entered  the  church,  and  after 
having  heard  mass  with  much  devotion,  they  sat  down  to  table, 
where  Hircan  did  not  fail  to  banter  his  wife  for  her  laziness. 
After  dinner  every  one  retired  to  study  his  part,  and  at  the 
appointed  hour  they  all  repaired  punctually  to  the  usual  ren¬ 
dezvous.  Oisille  asked  Hircan  who  should  begin  the  day. 
“If  my  wife  had  not  been  the  first  speaker  yesterday,”  he  said, 
“  I  would  give  my  voice  for  her ;  for  though  I  have  always 
believed  that  she  loved  me  better  than  any  man  in  the  world, 
she  has  shown  me  to-day  that  she  loves  me  a  great  deal  better 
than  God  and  his  Word,  since  she  has  preferred  my  company  to 
your  reading.  Since,  then,  I  cannot  give  my  voice  to  the  most 
discreet  of  the  women,  I  will  give  it  to  the  most  discreet  of  the 
men — I  mean  Geburon,  whom  I  entreat  not  to  spare  the  monks.” 

“  It  is  not  necessary  to  make  the  entreaty,”  replied  Geburon. 
“I  hold  them  too  well  in  mind  to  forget  them.  It  is  not  long 
since  I  heard  a  story  told  by  Monsieur  de  Saint  Vincent,  then  the 
emperor’s  ambassador,  which  is  too  good  to  be  lost.” 


Nsv&  3  r.] 


Fourth  Day. 


\ 


*05 


NOVEL  XXXI. 

\  monastery  of  cordeliers  was  burned  and  the  monks  in  it,  in  perpetual  memory 
of  the  cruelty  of  one  of  them  who  was  in  love  with  a  lady. 

ITHIN  the  dominions  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian  of 
Austria  there  was  a  monastery  of  Cordeliers,  held  in 
high  esteem,  and  near  it  was  the  house  of  a  gentleman. 
This  gentleman  was  so  infatuated  with  these  Cordeliers 
that  there  was  nothing  he  did  not  give  them,  in  order  to  have 
part  in  the  benefit  of  their  fastings  and  prayers.  Among  others, 
there  was  in  this  monastery  a  tall,  handsome  young  Cordelier, 
whom  the  gentleman  had  taken  for  his  confessor,  and  who  was 
as  absolute  in  the  house  as  the  master  himself.  The  Cordelier, 
struck  by  the  exceeding  beauty  and  propriety  of  the  gentleman’s 
wife,  became  so  enamoured  of  her,  that  he  could  neither  eat  nor 
drink,  and  lost  all  natural  reason.  Resolved  to  execute  his  design, 
he  went  all  alone  one  day  to  the  gentleman’s  house.  Finding  no 
one  at  home,  the  monk  asked  the  lady  whither  her  husband  was 
gone.  She  replied  that  he  was  gone  to  one  of  his  estates,  where 
he  was  to  remain  two  or  three  days  ;  but  that  if  he  wanted  him 
she  would  send  an  express  to  bring  him  back.  The  Cordelier  told 
her  that  was  necessary,  and  began  to  go  to  and  fro  about  the 
house,  as  if  he  had  some  affair  of  consequence  in  his  head. 

As  soon  as  the  monk  had  left  the  lady’s  room,  she  said  to  one 
of  her  women/ there  wt-re  but  two  of  them),  “Run  after  the  father, 
and  learn  what  he  wants  ;  for  I  know  by  his  looks  that  he  is  not 
pleased.”  The  girl,  finding  him  in  the  court-yard,  asked  him  if 
he  wanted  anything?  He  said  he  did,  and  drawing  her  into  a 
corner,  he  plunged  into  her  bosom  a  poniard  he  carried  in  his 
sleeve.  He  had  hardly  done  the  deed  when  one  of  the  gentle¬ 
man’s  men,  who  had  gone  to  receive  the  rent  of  a  farm,  entered 
the  yard  on  horseback.  As  soon  as  he  had  dismounted,  he  saluted 
the  Cordelier,  who  embraced  him,  and  buried  the  poniard  in  his 
back,  after  which  he  closed  the  gates  of  the  chateau. 

The  lady,  seeing  that  her  servant  did  not  return,  and  surprised 
at  her  remaining  so  long  with  the  Cordelier,  said  to  the  other 
woman,  “Go  see  why  your  companion  does  not  come  back.” 
The  servant  went,  and  no  sooner  came  in  sight  of  the  Cordelier 
than  he  called  her  aside,  and  served  her  as  he  had  done  the  other. 
Knowing  that  he  was  then  alone  in  the  house,  he  went  to  the 
lady,  and  told  her  that  he  had  long  loved  her,  and  that  it  was 
lime  she  should  obey  him.  She,  who  could  never  have  suspected 
fclim  of  anything  of  the  kind,  replied,  “  I  believe,  father,  that  if  I 


206 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

were  so  unhappily  inclined,  you  would  be  the  first  to  condemn 
me  and  cast  a  stone  at  me.” 

“  Come  out  into  the  yard,”  said  the  monk,  “  and  you  will  see 
what  I  have  done.” 

The  poor  woman  did  so,  and  seeing  her  two  women  and  her 
man  lying  dead  on  the  ground,  was  so  horrified,  that  she  remained 
motionless  and  speechless  as  a  statue.  The  villain,  who  did  not 
want  to  have  her  for  an  hour  only,  did  not  think  fit  to  offer  her 
violence  then,  and  said  to  her,  “  Have  no  fear,  mademoiselle;  you 
are  in  the  hands  of  that  man  in  all  the  world  who  loves  you 
most.”  So  saying,  he  took  off  his  robe,  beneath  which  he  had  a 
smaller  one,  which  he  presented  to  the  demoiselle,  threatening,  if 
she  did  not  put  it  on,  that  he  would  treat  her  as  he  had  done  the 
others.  The  demoiselle,  more  dead  than  alive,  made  a  show  of 
obeying  him,  as  well  to  save  her  life  as  to  gain  time,  in  hopes 
that  her  husband  would  return.  She  took  off  her  head-dress  by 
the  Cordelier’s  order  as  slowly  as  she  could  ;  and  when  she  had 
done  so,  the  monk,  without  regard  to  the  beauty  of  her  hair,  cut  it 
off  in  haste,  made  her  strip  to  her  shift,  and  put  on  the  small  robe, 
and  then,  resuming  his  own.  set  off  with  all  the  speed  he  could 
make  along  with  the  little  Cordelier  he  had  so  long  coveted. 

God,  who  has  pity  on  the  wronged  innocent,  was  touched  by 
the  tears  of  this  poor  lady,  and  so  ordered  things  that  her  hus¬ 
band,  having  despatched  his  business  sooner  than  he  expected, 
took  that  very  road  to  return  home  by  which  the  Cordelier  was 
carrying  off  his  wife.  The  monk,  descrying  the  husband  from  a 
distance,  said  to  the  lady,  “  Here  comes  your  husband.  I  know 
that  if  you  look  at  him  he  will  try  to  get  you  out  of  my  hands  ; 
so  walk  before  me,  and  do  not  turn  your  head  in  his  direction, 
for  if  you  make  him  the  least  sign,  I  shall  have  plunged  my 
poniard  in  your  breast  sooner  than  he  will  have  delivered  you.” 
Presently  the  gentleman  came  up,  and  asked  him  whence  he 
came?”  “From  your  house,  monsieur,”  replied  the  Cordelier. 
“  I  left  mademoiselle  quite  well,  and  she  is  expecting  you.”  The 
gentleman  rode  on  without  perceiving  his  wife  ;  but  the  valet 
who  accompanied  him,  and  who  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of 
conversing  with  the  Cordelier’s  companion,  named  Friar  John, 
called  to  his  mistress,  thinking  that  she  was  that  person.  The 
poor  woman,  who  durst  not  turn  her  head  towards  her  husband, 
made  no  reply  to  the  valet ;  and  the  latter  crossed  the  road,  that 
he  might  see  the  face  of  this  pretended  Brother  John.  The  poor 
lady,  without  saying  anything,  made  a  sign  to  him  with  her  eyes, 
which  were  full  of  tears.  The  valet  then  rode  up  to  his  master, 


Nouvells  XXXle 


Novel  31.]  Fourth  Day .  207 

and  said,  *  In  conscience,  monsieur,  Friar  John  is  very  like 
mademoiselle,  your  wife.  I  had  a  look  at  him  as  I  crossed  the 
road.  It  is  certainly  not  the  usual  Friar  John  ;  at  least,  I  can 
tell  you,  that  if  it  is,  he  weeps  abundantly,  and  that  he  gave  me 
a  very  sorrowful  glance  of  his  eye.” 

The  gentleman  told  him  he  was  dreaming,  and  made  light  of 
what  he  said.  The  valet,  however,  still  persisting  in  it  that  there 
was  something  wrong,  asked  leave  to  ride  back  and  see  to  it,  and 
begged  his  master  to  wait  for  him.  The  gentleman  let  him  go, 
and  waited  to  see  what  would  be  the  upshot.  But  the  Cordelier, 
hearing  the  valet  coming  after  him  with  shouts  to  Friar  John, 
and  making  no  doubt  that  the  lady  had  been  recognised,  turned 
upon  the  valet  with  a  great  iron-bound  staff,  gave  him  such  a 
blow  on  the  side  that  he  knocked  him  off  his  horse,  and  springing 
instantly  upon  him  with  the  poniard,  speedily  dispatched  him. 
The  gentleman,  who  from  a  distance  had  seen  his  valet  fall,  and 
supposed  that  this  had  happened  by  some  accident,  spurred 
towards  him  at  once  to  help  him.  As  soon  as  he  was  within 
reach,  the  Cordelier  struck  him  a  blow  of  the  same  staff  with 
which  he  had  struck  the  valet,  unhorsed  and  fell  upon  him  ;  but 
the  gentleman,  being  very  strong,  threw  his  arms  round  the 
Cordelier,  and  hugged  him  so  roughly,  that  he  not  only  prevented 
his  doing  him  any  more  mischief,  but  made  him  drop  the  poniard. 
The  wife  caught  it  up  at  once  and  gave  it  to  her  husband.  At 
the  same  time  she  seized  him  by  his  hood  and  held  him  with  all 
her  might,  whilst  her  husband  stabbed  him  several  times  with 
the  poniard.  The  Cordelier,  being  unable  to  do  anything  else, 
begged  for  quarter,  and  confessed  the  crime  he  had  committed. 
The  gentleman  granted  him  his  life,  and  begged  his  wife  to  go 
for  his  people,  and  a  cart  to  carry  the  prisoner  away,  which  sha 
did,  throwing  off  her  Cordelier’s  robes,  and  hurrying  home  in 
her  shift  and  cropped  hair.  The  gentleman’s  retainers  all  hastened 
to  help  him  to  bring  home  the  wolf  he  had  captured  ;  and  the 
culprit  was  afterwards  sent  by  the  gentleman  to  Flandersto  be 
tried  by  the  emperor’s  officers. 

He  not  only  confessed  the  crime  for  which  he  was  tried,  but 
also  avowed  a  fact,  which  was  afterwards  verified  on  the  spot  by 
special  commissioners  sent  for  that  purpose,  which  was,  that 
several  other  ladies  and  handsome  girls  had  been  taken  to  that 
convent  in  the  same  manner  as  this  Cordelier  had  attempted  to 
carry  off  the  lady  of  whom  we  are  speaking ;  and  if  he  did  not 
succeed,  this  was  owing  to  nothing  else  than  the  goodness  of 
God,  who  always  takes  upon  Him  the  defence  of  those  who  trust 


2  oS  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

in  Him.  The  girls  and  the  other  stolen  spoil  found  in  the 
monastery  were  removed,  and  the  monks  were  burned  with  the 
monastery,  in  perpetual  memorial  of  a  crime  so  horrible.  We 
see  from  this  that  there  is  nothing  more  cruel  than  love  when  its 
principle  is  vice,  as  there  is  nothing  more  humane  or  more 
laudable  when  it  dwells  in  a  virtuous  heart.* 

1  am  very  sorry,  ladies,  that  truth  does  not  furnish  us  with  so 
many  tales  to  the  advantage  of  the  Cordeliers  as  contrariwise.  I 
like  this  order,  and  should  be  very  glad  to  know  some  story  in 
which  I  could  praise  them.  But  we  are  so  pledged  to  speak  the 
truth,  that  I  cannot  conceal  it  after  the  report  of  persons  so 
worthy  of  belief ;  though,  at  the  same  time,  I  assure  you  that  if 
the  Cordeliers  of  the  present  day  did  anything  worthy  of  memory 
which  was  to  their  honour,  I  would  do  justice  to  it  with  more 
alacrity  than  I  have  told  the  truth  in  the  story  I  have  just  related 
to  you. 

“In  good  faith,  Geburon,”  said  Oisille,  “that  sort  of  love 
might  well  be  called  cruelty.” 

“  I  am  surprised,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  he  did  not  ravish 
the  lady  at  once  when  he  saw  her  in  her  shift,  and  in  a  place 
where  he  was  master.” 

“  He  was  not  picksome  but  gluttonous,”  said  Saffredent.  “As 
he  intended  to  have  his  fill  of  her  every  day,  he  had  no  mind  to 
amuse  himself  with  nibbling  at  her.” 

“That  is  not  it,”  said  Parlamente.  “A  ruffian  is  always 
timorous.  The  fear  of  being  surprised  and  losing  his  prey  made 
him  carry  off  his  lamb,  as  the  wolf  carries  off  a  sheep,  to  devour 
it  at  his  ease.” 

“  I  cannot  believe  he  loved  her,”  said  Dagoucin,  “  nor  can  I 
conceive  that  so  exalted  a  passion  as  love  should  enter  so  cowardly 
and  villanous  a  heart.” 

“  Be  it  as  it  may,”  said  Oisille,  “  he  was  well  punished  for  it. 
I  pray  God  that  all  who  do  the  like  deeds  may  suffer  the  like 
penalties.  But  to  whom  do  you  give  your  voice  ?” 

*  Notwithstanding  what  is  said  in  the  prologue  to  the  fourth  day  respecting 
the  recent  origin  of  this  tale,  it  is  found  in  several  writers  of  earlier  date.  It  is 
identical,  for  instance,  with  a  fabliau  by  Rutebeuf,  entitled  Frlre  Denise  (See 
Fabliaux  de  Legrand ' d' Aussy),  iv.  383,  and  has  some  resemblance  to  No.  LX. 
of  the  Cent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles.  The  Queen  of  Navarre’s  tale  has  been  copied 
by  Henry  Stephens,  in  his  Apology  for  Herodotus,  by  L’Etoile,  in  his  journal  of 
the  reign  of  Henri  HI.,  anno  15 77,  and  by  Malespini,  in  his  Ducento  Novell 
No.  LXXV. 


Novel  32.]  Fourth  Day.  209 

“To  you  madam,”  said  Geburon,  “for  I  know  you  will  not 
fail  to  tell  us  a  good  tale.” 

“If  new  things  are  good,”  replied  Oisille,  “I  will  tell  you  one 
which  cannot  be  bad,  since  the  event  happened  in  my  time,  and  I 
have  it  from  an  eye-witness.  You  are,  doubtless,  not  ignorant 
that' death  being  the  end  of  all  our  woes,  it  may,  consequently,  be 
called  the  beginning  of  our  felicity  and  our  repose.  Thus  man's 
greatest  misery  is  to  wish  for  death  and  not  be  able  to  obtain  it. 
The  greatest  ill  which  can  befall  a  criminal  is  not  to  be  put  to 
death,  but  to  be  made  to  suffer  so  much  that  he  longs  for  death, 
while  his  sufferings,  though  continual,  are  of  such  a  nature  as 
not  to  be  capable  of  abridging  his  life.  It  was  in  this  way  that 
a  gentleman  treated  his  wife,  as  you  shall  hear.” 


NOVEL  XXXII. 

A  husband  surprises  his  wife  in  flagrante  delicto ,  and  subjects  her  to  a  punish. 

ment  more  terrible  than  death  itself. 

ING  CHARLES  VIII.  sent  to  Germany  a  gentleman 
named  Bernage,  Lord  of  Sivray,  near  Amboise.  This 
gentleman,  travelling  day  and  night,  arrived  very  late 
one  evening  at  the  house  of  a  gentleman,  where  he 
asked  for  a  night’s  lodging,  and  obtained  it,  but  with  difficulty. 
The  owner  of  the  house,  nevertheless,  learning  in  whose  service 
he  was,  came  to  him  and  begged  he  would  excuse  the  incivility 
of  his  servants,  stating  that  certain  of  his  wife’s  relations,  who 
meant  him  mischief,  obliged  him  to  keep  his  doors  thus  closed, 
oernage  told  him  on  what  business  he  was  travelling,  and  his 
host  expressing  his  readiness  to  render  the  king  his  master  all 
possible  services,  received  his  ambassador  into  his  house,  and 
lodged  and  treated  him  honourably.  Supper-time  being  come,  he 
showed  him  into  a  richly-tapestried  hall,  where,  entering  from 
behind  the  hangings,  there  appeared  the  most  beautiful  woman 
that  ever  was  seen  ;  but  her  hair  was  cropped  close,  and  she  was 
dressed  in  black  garments  of  German  cut.  After  the  gentleman 
had  washed  with  Bernage,  water  was  set  before  this  lady,  who 
washed  also,  and  took  her  seat  at  the  end  of  the  table  without 
speaking  to  anyone,  or  anyone  to  her.  Bernage  often  looked  at 
her,  and  thought  her  one  of  the  handsomest  women  he  had  ever 
seen,  except  that  her  face  was  very  pale,  and  her  air  extremely 
sad.  After  she  had  eaten  a  little,  she  asked  for  drink,  which  was 

P 


210  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

given  to  her  by  a  domestic  in  a  very  singular  vessel.  This  was 
a  death’s  head,  th  holes  of  which  were  stopped  with  silver  ;  and 
out  of  this  vessel  she  drank  two  or  three  times.  After  she  had 
supped  and  washed,  she  made  a  reverence  to  the  master  of  the 
house,  and  retired  again  behind  the  tapestry  without  speaking 
to  anyone. 

Bernage  was  so  surprised  at  this  extraordinary  spectacle  that 
he  became  quite  sombre  and  pensive.  His  host  perceived  this, 
and  said  10  him,  “You  are  surprised,  I  see,  at  what  you  have 
beheld  at  table.  Now,  the  courteous  demeanour  I  have  marked 
in  you  does  not  permit  me  to  make  a  secret  of  the  matter  to  you, 
but  to  explain  it,  in  order  that  you  may  not  suppose  me  capable 
of  acting  so  cruelly  without  great  reason.  That  lady  whom  you 
have  seen  is  my  wife,  whom  I  loved  more  than  man  ever  loved 
woman.  I  risked  everything  to  marry  her,  and  I  brought  hei 
hither  in  spite  of  her  relations.  She,  too,  evinced  so  much  love 
for  me  that  I  would  have  hazarded  a  thousand  lives  to  obtain 
her.  We  lived  long  in  such  concord  and  pleasure  that  I  esteemed 
myself  the  happiest  gentleman  in  Christendom  ;  but  honour 
having  obliged  me  to  make  a  journey,  she  forgot  hers  and  the 
love  she  had  for  me,  and  conceived  a  passion  for  a  young  gentle¬ 
man  I  had  brought  up  in  this  house.  I  was  near  discovering  the 
fact  on  my  return  home,  but  I  loved  her  so  ardently  that  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  doubt  her.  At  last,  however,  experience 
opened  my  eyes,  and  I  saw  what  I  feared  more  than  death.  The 
love  I  had  felt  for  her  changed  into  fury  and  despair.  Feigning 
one  day  to  go  into  the  country,  I  hid  myself  in  the  chamber 
which  she  at  present  occupies.  Soon  after  my  pretended  de¬ 
parture,  she  retired  to  it,  and  sent  for  the  young  gentleman.  I 
saw  him  enter  the  room  and  take  liberties  with  her  which  should 
have  been  reserved  for  me  alone.  When  I  saw  him  about  to 
enter  the  bed  with  her,  I  issued  from  my  hiding-place,  seized 
him  in  her  arms,  and  slew  him.  But  as  my  wife’s  crime  seemed 
to  me  so  great  that  it  would  not  have  been  a  sufficient  punish¬ 
ment  for  it  had  I  killed  her  as  I  had  killed  her  gallant,  I  imposed 
upon  her  one  which  I  believe  is  more  insupportable  than  death  ; 
which  was,  to  shut  her  up  in  the  chamber  in  which  she  used  to 
enjoy  her  stolen  pleasures.  I  have  hung  there  in  a  press  all  the 
bones  of  her  gallant,  as  one  hangs  up  something  precious  in  a 
cabinet ;  and  that  she  may  not  forget  them  at  her  meals,  I  have 
her  served,  as  she  sits  opposite  to  me  at  table,  with  the  skull  of 
that  ingrate  instead  of  a  cup,  in  order  that  she  may  see  living 
him  whom  she  has  made  her  mortal  enemy  by  her  crime,  and 


211 


Novel  32.]  Fourth  Day. 

dead,  for  her  sake,  him  whose  love  she  preferred  to  mine.  In 
this  way,  when  she  dines  and  when  she  sups,  she  sees  the  two 
things  which  must  afflict  her  most,  namely,  the  living  enemy  and 
the  dead  friend  ;  and  all  this  through  her  guilt.  In  other  respects, 
I  treat  her  as  I  do  myself,  except  that  her  hair  is  cropped  ;  for 
the  hair  is  an  ornament  no  more  appropriate  to  the  adulteress 
than  the  veil  to  a  harlot :  therefore  her  cropped  head  denotes 
that  she  has  lost  honour  and  chastity.  If  you  please  to  take  the 
trouble  to  see  her,  I  will  take  you  into  her  room.” 

Bernage  willingly  accepted  the  offer,  and  going  down  stairs 
with  his  host,  found  the  lady  seated  alone  by  an  excellent  fire 
in  a  very  handsome  chamber.  The  gentleman  drew  back  a 
curtain  which  concealed  a  great  press,  and  there  he  saw  all  the 
bones  of  a  man  suspended.  Bernage  had  a  great  wish  to  speak 
to  the  lady,  but  durst  not  for  fear  of  the  husband,  until  the  latter, 
guessing  his  thoughts,  said  to  him,  “  If  you  like  to  say  anything 
to  her,  you  will  see  how  she  expresses  herself.” 

“Your  patience,  madam,”  said  Bernage,  turning  to  her,  “is 
equal  to  your  torture ;  I  regard  you  as  the  most  unhappy  woman 
in  the  world.” 

The  lady,  with  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  with  incomparable 
grace  and  humility,  replied,  “  I  confess,  sir,  that  my  fault  is  so 
great,  that  all  the  ills  which  the  master  of  this  house,  whom  I 
am  not  worthy  to  call  husband,  could  inflict  upon  me,  are  nothing 
in  comparison  to  the  grief  I  feel  for  having  offended  him.”  So 
saying  she  wept  profusely. 

The  gentleman  took  Bernage  by  the  arm  and  led  him  away. 
Next  morning  he  continued  his  journey  upon  the  king’s  service  ; 
but  on  taking  leave  of  the  gentleman  he  could  not  help  saying 
to  him,  “The  esteem  I  entertain  for  you,  sir,  and  the  courtesies 
you  have  shown  me  in  your  house,  oblige  me  to  tell  you  that, 
in  my  opinion,  considering  the  great  repentance  of  your  poor 
wife,  you  ought  to  forgive  her ;  the  more  so  as  you  are  young 
and  have  no  children.  It  would  be  a  pity  that  a  house  like  yours 
should  fall,  and  that  those  who  perhaps  do  not  love  you  should 
become  inheritors  of  your  substance.” 

The  gentleman,  who  had  resolved  never  to  forgive  his  wife, 
pondered  long  over  what  Bernage  had  said  to  him,  and  at  last, 
owning  that  he  had  spoken  the  truth,  promised  that  if  she  perse¬ 
vered  in  her  present  humility,  he  would  forgive  her  after  some 
time.  Bernage,  on  his  return  to  the  court,  related  the  whole 
story  to  the  king,  who  directed  inquiries  to  be  made  into  the 
matter,  and  found  that  it  was  all  just  as  Bernage  had  reported. 


tit  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

The  description  he  gave  of  the  lady’s  beauty  so  pleased  the  king 
that  he  sent  his  painter,  Jean  de  Paris,  to  take  her  portrait  ex- 
actlv  as  she  was,  which  he  did  with  the  husband’s  consent.  After 
she  had  undergone  a  long  penance,  and  always  with  the  same 
humility,  the  gentleman,  who  longed  much  for  children,  took  pity 
on  his  wife,  reinstated  her,  and  had  by  her  several  fine  children. 

If  all  those  wives  who  have  done  the  same  sort  of  thing  had 
to  drink  out  of  similar  vessels.  I  am  greatly  afraid,  ladies,  that 
many  a  gilt  cup  would  be  turned  into  a  death’s  head.  God  keep 
us  from  the  like,  for  if  his  goodness  does  not  restrain,  there  is 
not  one  of  us  but  may  do  worse  ;  but  if  we  trust  in  Him,  He 
will  guard  those  who  own  that  they  cannot  guard  themselves. 
Those  who  rely  on  their  own  strength  run  great  risk  of  being 
tempted,  and  of  being  constrained  by  experience  to  acknowledge 
their  infirmity.  I  can  assure  you  that  there  are  many  who  have 
stumbled  through  pride  in  this  way,  whilst  others,  who  were  re¬ 
puted  less  discreet,  have  been  saved  through  their  humility.  The 
old  proverb  says  truly.  “What  God  keeps  is  well  kept.’’ 

“  I  look  upon  the  punishment  inflicted  in  this  case  as  quite 
reasonable,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “for  as  the  offence  was  worse 
than  death,  so  also  ought  the  penalty  to  be.” 

“  I  am  not  of  your  opinion,”  said  Ennasuite.  “  I  would  rather 
see  the  bones  of  all  my  lovers  hung  up  in  my  cabinet  all  my  life 
long  than  die  for  them.  There  is  no  misdeed  that  cannot  be 
repaired,  but  from  death  there  is  no  return.” 

“  How  can  infamy  be  repaired  ?  ”  asked  Longarine.  “  Do  what 
she  may,  you  know  that  a  woman  cannot  retrieve  her  honour 
after  a  crime  of  this  nature.” 

“  I  should  like  to  know,”  returned  Ennasuite,  “if  the  Magdalen 
is  not  now  in  more  honour  among  men  than  her  sister  who  was  a 
virgin  ?  ” 

“  I  admit,”  replied  Longarine,  “  that  we  praise  her  for  her  love 
for  Jesus  Christ,  and  for  her  great  penitence  ;  nevertheless,  the 
name  of  sinner  clings  to  her  always.” 

“Much  I  care  what  name  men  give  me,”  said  Ennasuite; 
“  only  let  me  have  God’s  pardon  and  my  husband’s  too,  there 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  wish  to  die.” 

“  If  this  lady  loved  her  husband  as  she  ought,”  said 
Dagoucin,  “  I  am  surprised  she  did  not  die  of  grief  at  looking 
upon  the  bones  of  him  whom  her  crime  had  brought  to  death.” 

“Why,  Dagoucin,”  said  Simontault,  “have  you  yet  to  learn 
that,  women  know  neither  love  nor  regret  ?” 


Novel  33.J  Fourth  Day  ai* 

“Yes,”  he  replied,  “  for  I  have  never  rer.tured  to  prove  then 
love  for  fear  of  finding  it  less  than  I  should  have  wished.” 

“You  live,  then,  on  faith  and  hope,”  said  Normerfide,  “as  the 
plover  lives  on  wind.  You  are  easily  kept.” 

“  I  content  myself  with  the  love  I  feel  in  my  own  heart,”  he 
replied,  “and  with  the  hope  that  there  is  the  same  in  the  hearts 
cf  ladies.  But  if  I  was  quite  sure  that  that  love  corresponded 
to  my  hope,  I  should  feel  a  pleasure  so  extreme  that  I  could  not 
sustain  it  and  live.” 

“  Keep  yourself  safe  from  the  plague,”  said  Geburon,  “  for  as 
for  the  other  malady,  I  warrant  you  against  it.  But  let  us  see  to 
whom  Madame  Oisille  will  give  her  voice.” 

“I  give  it,”  she  said,  “to  Simontault,  who  I  know  will  spare 
no  one.” 

“That  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  I  am  rather  given  to 
evil  speaking,”  said  he.  “  I  shall,  nevertheless,  let  you  see  that 
people  who  have  been  regarded  in  that  same  light  have  yet  spoken 
the  truth.  I  believe,  ladies,  you  are  not  so  simple  as  to  put  faith 
in  everything  a  person  tells  you,  however  sanctified  an  air  he 
may  assume,  unless  the  proof  is  clear  beyond  doubt.  Many  an 
abuse  is  committed  under  the  guise  of  a  miracle.  Therefore  I 
intend  to  relate  to  you  a  story  not  less  honourable  to  a  religious 
prince  than  shameful  to  a  wicked  minister  of  the  church.” 


NOVEL  XXXIII. 

Incest  of  a  priest,  who  got  his  sister  with  child  under  the  cloak  of  sanctity,  ana 

how  it  was  punished. 

HE  Count  Charles  d’Angouleme,*  father  of  Francis  I., 
and  a  prince  of  great  piety,  being  one  day  at  Coignac, 
some  one  told  him  that  in  a  village  named  Cherves 
there  was  a  maiden  who  lived  with  such  austerity  that 
it  was  a  marvel,  yet  she  was  with  child,  and  did  not  even  make 
any  secret  of  it,  but  assured  everybody  that  she  had  never  known 
man,  and  that  she  knew  not  how  it  had  happened  to  her,  unless  it 
was  the  work  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  people  readily  gave  credit 
to  this  delusion,  and  looked  upon  the  girl  as  a  second  Virgin 
Mary,  the  more  so  as  she  had  been  known  to  be  so  well-behaved 
from  her  childhood,  and  never  to  have  shown  the  least  sign  of 
a  disposition  to  mundane  vanities.  She  not  only  fasted  at  the 
seasons  appointed  by  the  church,  but  also  made  several  voluntary 

*  This  story  is  told  of  the  father  of  Queen  Margaret,  and  is  doubtless  founded 
on  fact. 


2i4  7J5*  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

fasts  every  week,  and  never  stirred  from  the  church  as  long  as 
there  was  any  service  going  on  in  it.  The  common  people  made 
so  much  account  of  this  manner  of  life  that  everyone  flocked 
to  see  her,  as  though  she  were  a  living  miracle,  and  fortunate 
was  he  who  could  touch  her  gown.  The  priest  of  the  parish  was 
her  brother,  a  man  in  years,  of  an  austere  life,  and  a  reputed 
saint.  So  rigorously  did  he  treat  his  sister,  that  he  had  her  shut 
up  in  a  house,  whereat  the  people  were  greatly  displeased,  and 
the  affair  made  so  much  noise  that  it  came,  as  I  have  already 
said,  to  the  ears  of  Count  Charles,  who,  seeing  the  delusion  into 
which  everybody  had  fallen,  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  it. 

To  this  end,  he  sent  a  referendary  and  an  almoner,  both  of 
them  worthy  men,  to  ascertain  the  truth.  They  went  to  the  spot, 
inquired  into  the  fact  as  carefully  as  possible,  and  applied  to  the 
priest,  who  was  so  vexed  at  the  affair  that  he  begged  them  to  be 
present  at  the  verification  he  hoped  to  make  of  it.  Next  morning 
the  priest  celebrated  mass,  his  sister,  who  was  very  big,  being 
present  on  her  knees.  After  it  was  over,  he  took  the  co?'pus 
Domini ,  and  said  to  his  sister,  in  presence  of  the  whole  congrega¬ 
tion,  “Wretch  that  thou  art,  here  is  He  who  suffered  death  for 
thee,  in  whose  presence  I  ask  thee  if  thou  art  a  virgin  as  thou 
hast  always  assured  me.”  She  replied  boldly  and  fearlessly  that  she 
was  so.  “  How,  then,  is  it  possible  that  thou  art  pregnant,  yet 
still  a  virgin  ?  ”  “  All  I  can  say,”  she  replied,  “  is,  that  it  is  the 

grace  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  who  does  in  me  whatever  he  pleases  ;  but 
also  I  cannot  deny  the  grace  which  God  has  done  me  in  preserving 
me  a  virgin.  Never  have  I  had  even  a  thought  of  marrying.” 

Her  brother  then  said  to  her,  “  I  give  thee  here  the  precious 
body  of  Jesus  Christ,  which  thou  wilt  take  to  thy  damnation  if 
thou  dost  not  speak  the  truth  ;  whereof  will  be  witnesses  these 
gentlemen,  who  are  here  present  on  the  part  of  my  lord  the  count.” 

The  girl,  who  was  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  then  made  oath 
as  follows  : — “  1  take  the  body  of  our  Lord  here  present  to  my 
condemnation  before  you,  sirs,  and  you  my  brother,  if  ever  man 
has  touched  me  any  more  than  you.”  So  saying,  she  received 
the  body  of  our  Lord. 

The  referendary  and  the  almoner  went  away  quite  confounded, 
not  being  able  to  believe  that  anyone  would  lie  after  such  an 
oath,  and  they  made  their  report  to  the  count,  whom  they  tried 
to  bring  to  entertain  the  same  belief  as  themselves.  But  he,  being 
a  wise  man,  after  much  thought,  made  them  repeat  the  verv  words 
of  the  oath  ;  and  having  well  weighed  them,  he  said,  “  She  told 
you  that  never  man  touched  her  any  more  than  her  brother.  I  am 


Novel  33.]  .  Fourth  Day.  215 

persuaded  that  it  was  her  brother  who  got  her  with  child,  and 
that  she  seeks  to  conceal  his  incest  by  prevarication.  We,  who 
believe  that  Jesus  Christ  is  come,  must  not  expect  another. 
Return  then  to  the  place,  and  put  the  priest  in  prison  ;  I  am  sure 
he  will  confess  the  truth.” 

They  executed  their  orders,  but  unwillingly,  and  not  without 
remonstrating  against  the  necessity  of  putting  such  a  scandal 
upon  a  good  man.  The  priest  was  no  sooner  committed  to 
prison  than  he  confessed  his  crime,  and  owned  that  he  had 
instructed  his  sister  to  speak  as  she  had  done  in  order  to  conceal 
the  intercourse  between  them,  and  this  not  only  to  baffle  inquiry 
by  so  slight  a  device,  but  also  to  secure  to  themselves  universal 
esteem  and  veneration  by  this  false  statement.  Being  asked  how 
he  could  carry  his  wickedness  to  such  an  excess  as  to  make  his 
sister  swear  upon  our  Lord’s  body,  he  replied  that  his  audacity 
had  not  reached  that  length,  and  that  he  had  used  an  ordinary 
wafer,  which  was  neither  consecrated  nor  blessed. 

All  this  having  been  reported  to  the  Count  d’Angouleme,  he 
sent  the  affair  before  the  courts  of  justice.  Execution  was  de¬ 
layed  until  the  sister  was  delivered  of  a  fine  boy.  After  her 
delivery  the  brother  and  sister  were  burnt,  to  the  great  astonish¬ 
ment  of  all  the  people,  who  had  beheld  a  monster  so  horrible 
under  such  a  garb  of  holiness,  and  so  detestable  a  crime  under 
the  appearances  of  a  life  so  laudable  and  regenerate. 

The  good  Count  d’Angouleme’s  faith,  ladies,  was  proof  against 
outward  signs  and  miracles.  He  knew  that  we  have  but  one 
Saviour,  who,  when  he  said  consummatum  est,  showed  thereby 
that  we  are  not  to  expect  a  successor  for  our  salvation. 

“  Truly,”  said  Oisille,  “  that  was  a  monstrous  piece  of  effrontery 
covered  with  unparalleled  hypocrisy.  It  is  the  height  of  impiety  to 
cover  so  enormous  a  crime  with  the  mantle  of  God  and  religion.” 

“  I  have  heard,”  said  Hircan,  “  that  those  who  commit  acts  of 
cruelty  and  tyranny  under  pretence  of  having  the  king’s  com¬ 
mission  are  doubly  punished,  the  reason  being  that  they  make 
the  king’s  name  a  cover  for  their  injustice.  Likewise,  it  is  seen 
that  although  hypocrites  prosper  for  some  time  under  the  cloak  of 
godliness,  God  no  sooner  unmasks  them  than  they  appear  such 
as  they  are ;  and  then  their  nakedness,  their  filth,  and  their 
infamy  are  the  more  horrible,  the  more  august  and  sacred  was  the 
wrapper  with  which  they  concealed  them.” 

“  There  is  nothing  more  agreeable,”  said  Nomerfide,  “than  to 
speak  frankly  and  as  the  heart  feels.” 


216  The  Hepta?neron  of  the  Queen  f  Navarre. 

44  It  serves  to  make  one  fat,”  replied  Longarine,  “  and  I  imagifct 
you  decide  from  your  own  case.” 

“Let  me  tell  you,”  returned  Nomerfide,  “  I  remark  that  fool.i 
live  longer  than  the  wise,  unless  some  one  kills  them  ;  for  which 
I  know  but  one  reason,  namely,  that  fools  do  not  dissemble  their 
passions.  If  they  are  angry  they  strike  ;  if  they  are  merry,  they 
laugh  ;  but  those  who  deem  themselves  wise  hide  their  defects 
with  so  much  care  that  their  hearts  are  all  poisoned  with  them  ” 

“I  believe  that  is  true,”  said  Geburon,  “and  that  hypocrisy, 
whether  as  regards  God,  men,  or  nature,  is  the  cause  of  all  the 
evil  that  befalls  us.” 

44  It  would  be  a  fine  thing,”  said  Parlamente,  44  if  faith  so  filled 
our  hearts  with  Him  who  is  all  virtue  and  all  joy,  that  we  should 
show  them  to  everyone  without  disguise.” 

“  That  will  be  when  there  is  no  longer  any  flesh  on  our  bones, K 
observed  Hircan. 

“Yet,”  remarked  Oisille,  “the  spirit  of  God,  which  is  mightief 
than  death,  can  change  our  hearts  without  changing  ourbodiesA 

44  You  speak,  madam,”  said  Saffredent,  “of  a  gift  which  God 
hardly  makes  to  men.” 

“  He  does  make  it,”  rejoined  Oisille,  44  to  those  who  have 
faith.  But  as  this  is  a  matter  above  the  comprehension  of  flesh, 
let  us  see  to  whom  Simontault  gives  his  voice.” 

“To  Nomerfide,”  he  said.  “As  she  has  a  merry  heart,  I  do 
not  think  her  words  will  be  sad.” 

44  Since  you  have  a  mind  to  laugh,”  said  Nomerfide,  44  I  must 
serve  you  after  your  own  way,  and  give  you  matter  for  laughter. 
I  wish  to  show  you  that  fear  and  ignorance  are  equally  mis¬ 
chievous,  and  that  one  often  sins  only  for  want  of  knowing 

things.  With  this  view,  I  will  relate  to  you  what  happened  to 

two  poor  Cordeliers  of  Niort,  who,  for  not  understanding  the 

language  of  a  butcher,  had  like  to  die  of  fright.” 


NOVEL  XXXIV. 

Two  over-inquisitive  Cordeliers  had  a  great  flight,  which  had  like  to  cost  them 

their  lives. 

WO  Cordeliers  arrived  late  one  night  at  Grip,  a  village 
belonging  to  the  Lord  of  Fors,  situated  between  Niort 
and  Fors,  and  took  up  their  quarters  with  a  butcher. 
As  their  bedroom  was  separated  from  their  host’s  only 
by  an  ill-jointed  boarded  partition,  they  had  a  mind  to  listen  to 


Novel  34.]  Fourth  Day.  217 

what  passed  between  the  husband  and  wife,  and  they  clapped 
their  ears  to  the  partition  close  to  the  head  of  the  host’s  bed.  As 
the  butcher  had  no  suspicion  of  his  guests,  he  talked  to  his  wife 
about  his  business,  and  said,  “  My  dear,  I  must  be  up  betimes 
to-morrow,  and  see  about  our  Cordeliers.  One  of  them  is  very 
fat  ;  we  will  kill  bim  and  salt  him  forthwith,  and  we  shall  make 
a  good  thing  of  him.” 

Though  the  butcher  talked  of  his  pigs,  which  he  called 
Cordeliers,  the  two  poor  friars,  hearing  this,  set  it  all  down  to 
their  own  account,  and  awaited  daylight  with  great  terror.  One 
of  them  was  very  fat,  the  other  very  lean  ;  and  the  fat  one  set 
about  confessing  himself  to  his  companion,  alleging  that  a 
butcher,  having  lost  the  love  and  fear  of  God,  would  make  no 
more  of  slaughtering  them  than  an  ox  or  any  other  beast.  As 
they  were  shut  up  in  their  chamber,  from  which  there  was 
no  issue  but  through  their  host’s,  they  gave  themselves  up  for 
dead  men,  and  earnestly  commended  their  souls  to  God.  The 
young  man,  who  was  not  so  overcome  by  fear  as  the  elder,  said 
to  him,  that  since  they  could  not  get  out  at  the  door,  they  must 
try  to  escape  through  the  window  ;  at  the  worst  they  could  only 
be  killed  in  the  attempt,  and  death  one  way  or  the  other  was  the 
same  thing  in  the  end.  The  fat  friar  consented  to  the  expedient. 
The  young  one  opened  the  window,  and,  as  it  was  not  very  high, 
dropped  lightly  to  the  ground,  and  ran  away  as  fast  and  as  far  as 
he  could,  without  waiting  for  his  companion,  who  was  not  so 
lucky,  for,  being  very  bulky,  he  fell  so  heavily  that  he  hurt 
one  leg  severely,  and  was  unable  to  rise  from  the  ground.  De¬ 
serted  by  his  companion  and  unable  to  follow  him,  he  looked 
about  for  some  place  where  he  might  hide,  and  saw  nothing 
but  a  pigsty,  into  which  he  dragged  himself  the  best  way  he 
could.  When  he  opened  the  door,  two  big  porkers  which  were 
inside  rushed  out,  and  left  the  place  free  to  the  Cordelier,  who 
shut  himself  in,  hoping  that  he  might  hear  people  passing  by,  to 
whom  he  would  call  and  obtain  help. 

As  soon  as  daylight  appeared,  the  butcher  got  ready  his  big 
knives,  and  told  his  wife  to  come  and  help  him  to  kill  the  two 
pigs.  Going  to  the  sty,  he  opened  the  little  door,  and  cried  out, 
“Come,  turn  out  here,  my  Cordelier.  I’ll  have  your  chitterlings 
for  my  dinner  to-day.”  The  Cordelier,  who  could  not  stand  on 
his  leg,  crawled  out  on  his  hands  and  knees,  roaring  for  mercy. 
If  he  was  in  a  great  fright,  the  butcher  and  his  wife  were  no 
less  so.  The  first  idea  that  came  into  their  heads  was  that 
St.  Francis  was  angry  with  them  because  they  had  called  pigs 


II 8  '  The  Heptamcrtn  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

Cordeliers  ,  and  under  that  notion  they  fell  on  their  knees  before 
the  poor  friar,  begging  pardon  of  St.  Francis  and  his  order.  On 
the  one  side  was  the  Cordelier  bawling  for  mercy  to  the  butcher, 
on  the  other  side  the  butcher  making  the  same  appeal  to  the 
Cordelier.  At  last  the  Cordelier,  finding  that  the  butcher  had  no 
intention  of  hurting  him,  told  him  why  he  had  hid  himself  in 
that  place.  Fear  then  gave  place  to  laughter,  except  on  the  part 
of  the  poor  friar,  whose  leg  pained  him  so  much  that  he  had  no 
inclination  to  laugh.  The  butcher,  to  console  him  in  some 
degree,  took  him  back  to  the  house  and  had  his  hurt  carefully 
attended  to.  As  for  his  companion,  who  had  forsaken  him  in 
distress,  he  ran  all  night,  and  arrived  in  the  morning  at  the 
house  of  the  Lord  of  Fors,  where  he  made  loud  complaints  of  the 
butcher,  who,  he  supposed,  had  by  that  time  killed  his  com¬ 
panion,  since  the  latter  had  not  followed  him.  The  Lord  of 
Fors  sent,  immediately  to  Grip  to  see  how  matters  stood,  and  his 
messengers  brought  back  matter  for  laughter,  which  he  failed 
not  to  communicate  to  his  mistress,  the  Duchess  d’Angouleme 
mother  of  Francis  I. 

It  is  not  good,  ladies,  to  listen  to  secrets  when  one  is  not 
invited,  and  to  have  a  curiosity  to  hear  what  others  say. 

“  Did  not  I  tell  you,”  exclaimed  Simontault,  “that  Normerfide 
would  not  make  us  cry,  but  laugh  ?  Every  one  of  us,  I  think, 
has  done  so  very  heartily.” 

“Whence  comes  it,”  said  Oisille,  “that  one  is  always  more 
disposed  to  laugh  at  a  piece  of  nonsense  than  at  a  good  thing  ?  ” 

“  Because,”  replied  Hircan,  “the  nonsense  is  more  agreeable 
to  us,  being  more  conformable  to  our  own  nature,  which  of 
itself  is  never  wise.  Thus  everyone  is  fond  of  his  like  :  fools 
love  folly,  and  wise  men  wisdom.  I  am  sure,  however,  that 
neither  fools  nor  wise  could  help  laughing  at  this  story.” 

“  There  are  some,”  said  Geburon,  “  who  are  so  engrossed 
with  the  love  of  wisdom  that  nothing  you  could  say  to  them 
would  make  them  laugh.  Their  joy  and  their  satisfaction  are 
so  moderate  that  no  accident  is  capable  of  altering  them.” 

“  Who  are  these  persons  ?  ”  inquired  Hircan. 

“The  philosophers  of  past  times,”  replied  Geburon,  “who 
hardly  felt  either  mirth  or  sadness  ;  at  least,  they  showed  no 
manifestation  of  either,  so  possessed  were  they  with  the  belief 
that  there  is  virtue  in  vanquishing  oneself.” 

“  I  am  as  much  convinced  as  they  that  it  is  good  to  vanquish 
a  vicious  passion,”  said  Saffredent,  “but  to  vanquish  a  natural 


Novel  34.  Fourth  Day.  219 

passion,  which  has  no  evil  tendency,  seems  to  me  a  useless 
victory.” 

“  Nevertheless,  that  was  regarded  as  a  great  virtue,”  re¬ 
marked  Gebur^n. 

“  But  then,”  returned  Saffredent,  “it  is  not  said  that  all  the 
ancients  were  sages  ;  and  I  would  not  swear  that  there  was  not 
in  them  more  of  the  appearance  of  sense  and  virtu*  than  of 
the  reality.” 

“You  see,  however,”  said  Geburon,  “  that  they  condemn  every¬ 
thing  that  is  bad,  and  even  that  Diogenes  trampled  on  Plato’s 
coverlet  because  he  thought  it  too  rich  and  curious  ;  and  to  show 
that  he  despised  and  wished  to  trample  under  foot  Plato's  vain¬ 
glory  and  avarice,  *  I  trample,’  said  he,  ‘on  the  pride  of  Plato.’  ” 

“You  do  not  tell  all,”  replied  Saffredent  ;  “you  forget  that 
Plato  at  once  retorted  upon  him,  ‘  Thou  tramplest  on  it,  indeed, 
but  with  still  more  pride.’  In  fact,  it  was  only  through  a  certain 
arrogance  that  Diogenes  despised  elegance.” 

“In  truth,”  said  Parlamente,  “it  is  impossible  to  overcome 
ourselves  by  ourselves  ;  nor  can  one  think  to  do  so  without  pro¬ 
digious  pride,  the  vice  of  all  others  the  most  to  be  feared,  since 
•  it  rears  itself  upon  the  ruins  of  all  the  rest.” 

“Did  I  not  read  to  you  this  morning,”  said  Oisille,  “that 
those  who  believed  themselves  wiser  than  others,  and  who  came 
by  the  light  of  reason  to  know  a  God,  the  creator  of  all  things, 
for  having  been  vain  thereof,  and  not  having  attributed  this  glory 
to  Him  to  whom  it  belonged,  and  for  having  imagined  that  they 
had  acquired  this  knowledge  by  their  own  labours,  became  more 
ignorant  and  less  reasonable — I  will  not  say  than  other  men,  but 
than  the  very  brutes  ?  In  fact,  their  minds  having  run  astray, 
they  ascribed  to  themselves  what  belongs  to  God  alone,  and 
manifested  their  errors  by  the  disorders  of  their  lives,  forgetting 
their  very  sex,  and  abusing  it,  as  St.  Paul  says  in  his  Epistle  to 
the  Romans.” 

“  There  is  not  one  of  us,”  said  Parlamente,  “  but  recognises,  on 
reading  that  epistle,  that  outward  sins  are  the  fruits  of  inward 
unbelief,  the  more  dangerous  to  eradicate  the  more  it  is  covered 
by  virtue  and  miracles.” 

“We  men,”  said  Hircan,  “are  nearer  to  salvation  than  women, 
for  as  they  do  not  hide  their  fruits  they  easily  know  their  roots. 
But  you  women,  who  dare  not  produce  yours,  and  who  do  so 
many  acts  that  are  fair  in  appearance,  hardly  know  the  root  of 
pride,  that  grows  under  so  goodly  a  covering.” 

“I  own,”  said  Longarine,  “that  if  God’s  word  does  not  show 


a*  o 


The  Heptcuneron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

us  by  faith  the  leprosy  of  unbelief  that  is  hidden  in  our  hearts, 
God  does  us  a  great  grace  when  He  suffers  us  to  commit  a  visible 
fault,  which  manifests  our  hidden  disposition.  Blessed  are  they 
whom  faith  has  so  humbled  that  they  have  no  need  of  outward 
acts  to  make  them  conscious  of  the  weakness  and  corruption  of 
their  natures.” 

“  Do  let  us  consider,  I  beseech  you,”  said  Simontault,  “  wh<at 
a  course  our  conversation  has  taken.  From  an  instance  of 
extreme  folly  we  have  come  to  philosophy  and  theology.  Let  us 
leave  these  matters  to  those  who  are  more  competent  to  discuss 
them,  and  ask  Normefide  to  whom  she  gives  her  voice.” 

“To  Hircan,”  she  replied,  “but  on  condition  that  he  will  be 
tender  of  the  honour  of  the  ladies.” 

“  The  condition  fits  me  very  aptly,”  said  Hircan,  “  for  the 
story  I  have  to  tell  you  is  the  very  one  to  fulfil  it.  You  shall  see 
from  it,  nevertheless,  that  the  inclination  of  men  and  of  women 
is  naturally  vicious,  unless  it  be  kept  right  by  the  goodness  of  Him 
to  whom  we  ought  to  impute  all  the  victories  we  achieve  over 
ourselves.  And  to  abate  the  airs  you  give  yourselves  when  any 
story  is  told  which  does  you  honour,  I  will  tell  you  one  which  is 
strictly  true 


NOVEL  XXXV. 

How  a  sensible  husband  cured  his  wife  of  her  passion  for  a  Cordelier. 

T  Pampelune  there  was  a  lady  who  was  reputed  fair  and 
virtuous,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  devout  and 
chaste  in  the  country.  She  loved  her  husband  much, 
and  was  so  obsequious  to  him  that  he  had  entire  con¬ 
fidence  in  her.  She  was  wholly  occupied  with  God’s  service,  and 
never  missed  a  single  sermon,  and  omitted  nothing  by  which  she 
could  hope  to  persuade  her  husband  and  her  children  to  be  as 
devout  as  herself,  who  was  but  thirty  years  old,  an  age  at  which 
women  commonly  resign  the  pretensions  of  beauties  for  those  of 
new  she-sages. 

On  the  first  day  of  Lent  this  lady  went  to  church  to  receive 
the  ashes  which  are  a  memorial  of  death.  A  Cordelier,  whose 
austerity  of  life  had  gained  him  the  reputation  of  a  saint,  and 
who,  in  spite  of  his  austerity  and  his  macerations,  was  neither  so 
meagre  nor  so  pale  but  that  he  was  one  of  the  handsomest 
men  in  the  world,  was  to  preach  the  sermon.  The  lady  listened 
to  him  with  great  devotion,  and  gazed  no  less  intently  on  the 


Novel  35.]  Fourth  Day.  221 

preacher.  Her  ears  and  her  eyes  lost  nothing  that  was  presented 
to  them,  and  both  alike  found  wherewithal  to  be  gratified.  The 
preacher’s  words  penetrated  to  her  heart  through  her  ears  ;  and  the 
charms  of  his  countenance,  passing  through  her  eyes,  insinuated 
themselves  so  deeply  into  her  mind  that  she  felt  as  it  were  in  an 
ecstasy.  The  sermon  being  ended,  the  Cordelier  celebrated  mass, 
at  which  the  lady  was  present,  and  she  took  the  ashes  from  his 
hand,  which  was  as  white  and  shapely  as  that  of  any  lady.  The 
devotee  paid  much  more  attention  to  the  monk’s  hand  than  to  the 
ashes  he  gave  her,  persuading  herself  that  this  spiritual  love  could 
not  hurt  her  conscience,  whatever  pleasure  she  received  from  it. 
She  failed  not  to  go  every  day  to  the  sermon,  and, to  take  her 
husband  with  her  ;  and  both  so  highly  admired  the  preacher,  that 
at  table  and  elsewhere  they  talked  of  nothing  but  him. 

This  tire,  for  all  its  spirituality,  at  last  became  so  carnal,  that 
the  heart  of  this  poor  lady,  which  was  first  kindled  by  it,  con¬ 
sumed  all  the  rest.  Slow  as  she  had  been  to  feel  the  flame,  she 
was  equally  prompt  to  take  fire,  and  she  felt  the  pleasure  of  her 
passion  before  she  was  aware  that  passion  had  possession  of  her. 
Love,  which  had  rendered  himself  master  of  the  lady,  no  longer 
encountered  any  resistance  on  her  part ;  but  the  mischief  was 
that  the  physician  who  might  have  relieved  her  pain  was  not 
aware  of  her  malady.  Banishing,  therefore,  all  fear,  and  the 
shame  she  ought  to  have  felt  in  exposing  her  wild  fantasy  to  so 
sober-minded  a  man,  and  her  incontinence  to  one  so  saintly  and 
virtuous,  she  resolved  to  acquaint  him  in  writing  of  the  love  she 
cherished  for  him  ;  which  she  did  as  modestly  as  she  could,  and 
gave  her  letter  to  a  little  page,  with  instructions  as  to  what  he 
was  to  do,  especially  enjoining  him  to  take  good  care  that  her 
husband  did  not  see  him  go  to  the  Cordelier’s. 

The  page,  taking  the  shortest  road,  passed  through  a  street 
where  his  master  happened,  by  the  merest  chance,  to  be  sitting 
in  a  shop.  The  gentleman,  seeing  him  pass,  stepped  forward  to 
see  which  way  he  was  going  ;  and  the  page,  perceiving  this,  hid 
himself  with  some  trepidation.  His  master  saw  this,  followed 
him,  and  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  asked  him  whither  he  was 
going.  His  embarrassed  and  unmeaning  replies,  and  his  manifest 
fright,  aroused  the  suspicions  of  the  gentleman,  who  threatened 
to  beat  him  if  he  did  not  tell  the  truth.  “Oh,  sir,”  said  the  little 
page,  “  if  I  tell  you,  my  mistress  will  kill  me.”  The  gentleman, 
no  longer  doubting  that  his  wife  was  making  a  bargain  without 
him,  encouraged  the  page,  and  assured  him  that  nothing-should  befall 
aim  if  he  spoke  ihe  truth — on  the  contrary,  he  should  be  well 


222 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Qiiee?i  of  Nai  arre. 

rewarded  ;  but  if  he  told  a  lie,  he  should  be  imprisoned  for  life. 
Thus  urged  by  fear  and  hope,  the  page  acquainted  him  with  the 
real  fact,  and  showed  him  the  letter  his  mistress  had  written  to 
the  preacher,  whereat  the  husband  was  the  more  shocked,  as  he 
had  been  all  his  life  assured  of  the  fidelity  of  his  wife,  in  whom 
he  had  never  seen  a  fault. 

Being  a  wise  man,  however,  he  dissembled  his  anger,  and  fur¬ 
ther  to  try  his  wife,  he  answered  her  letter  in  the  preacher’s 
name,  thanking  her  for  her  gracious  inclination,  and  assuring  her 
that  it  was  fully  reciprocated.  The  page  after  being  sworn  by 
his  master  to.manage  the  affair  discreetly,  carried  this  letter  to 
his  mistress,  who  was  so  transported  with  joy  that  her  husband 
perceived  it  by  the  change  in  her  countenance  ;  for  instead  of 
her  fastings  in  Lent  having  emaciated  her,  she  looked  handsomer 
and  fresher  than  ever.  It  was  now  Mid- Lent,  but  the  lady,  with¬ 
out  concerning  herself  about  the  Lord’s  Passion  or  the  Holy 
Week,  wrote  as  usual  to  the  preacher,  the  theme  being  always  her 
amorous  rage.  When  he  turned  his  eyes  in  her  direction,  or 
spoke  of  the  love  of  God,  she  always  imagined  that  he  addressed 
himself  covertly  to  her;  and,  so  far. as  her  eyes  could  explain 
what  was  passing  in  her  heart,  she  did  not  suffer  them  to  be  idle. 

The  husband,  who  regularly  replied  to  her  in  the  name  of  the 
Cordelier,  wrote  to  her  after  Easter,  begging  she  would  contrive 
to  give  him  a  meeting  in  private  ;  and  she,  impatiently  longing 
for  an  opportunity  to  do  so,  advised  her  husband  to  go  see  some 
land  they  had  near  Pampelune.  He  said  he  would  do  so,  and 
went  and  concealed  himself  in  the  house  of  one  of  his  friends  ; 
whereupon  the  lady  wrote  to  the  Cordelier  that  her  husband  was 
in  the  country,  and  that  he  might  come  and  see  her. 

The  gentleman,  wishing  to  prove  his  wife’s  heart  thoroughly, 
went  and  begged  the  preacher  to  lend  him  his  robe.  The  Cor¬ 
delier,  who  was  a  good  man,  replied  that  his  rule  forbade  him  to 
do  so,  and  that  for  no  consideration  would  he  lend  his  robe  to  go 
masking  in.  The  gentleman  assured  him  it  was  not  for  any  idle 
diversion  he  wanted  it,  but  for  an  important  matter,  and  one 
necessary  to  his  salvation  ;  whereupon  the  Cordelier,  who  knew 
him  to  be  a  worthy,  pious  man,  lent  him  the  robe.  The  gentle¬ 
man  then  procured  a  false  beard  and  a  false  nose,  put  cork  in 
his  shoes  to  make  himself  as  tall  as  the  monk,  put  on  the  robe, 
which  covered  the  greater  part  of  his  face,  so  that  his  eyes  were 
barely  seen,  and,  in  a  word,  dressed  himself  up  so  that  he  might 
easily  be  mistaken  for  the  preacher.  Thus  disguised,  he  stole  by 
night  into  his  wife’s  chamber,  where  she  was  expecting  him  in 


Afezu/35'I  Fourth  Day .  ssj 

great  devotion.  The  poor  creature  did  not  wait  for  him  to  come 
to  her,  but  ran  to  embrace  him  like  a  woman  out  of  her  senses. 
Keeping  his  head  down  to  avoid  being  recognised,  he  began  to 
make  the  sign  of  the  cross,  pretending  to  shun  her,  and  crying, 
“Temptation!  temptation!” 

“Alas  !  you  are  right,  father,”  said  she,  “for  there  is  no  more 
violent  temptation  than  that  which  proceeds  from  love.  You 
have  promised  to  afford  me  relief,  and  I  pray  you  to  have  pity  on 
me  now  that  we  have  time  and  opportunity.” 

So  saying,  she  made  great  efforts  to  embrace  him,  while  he  kept 
dodging  her  in  all  directions,  still  making  great  signs  of  the  cross, 
and  crying,  “Temptation!  temptation!”  But  when  he  found 
that  she  was  pressing  him  too  closely,  he  drew  a  stout  stick  from 
under  his  robe,  and  thrashed  her  so  soundly  that  he  put  an  end 
to  the  temptation.  This  done,  he  left  the  house  without  being 
known,  and  immediately  returned  his  borrowed  robe,  assuring  the 
owner  that  he  had  used  it  to  great  advantage.  Next  day  he 
returned  hpme  as  if  from  a  journey,  and  found  his  wife  in  bed. 
Pretending  not  to  know  the  nature  of  her  malady,  he  asked  her 
what  ailed  her.  She  replied  that  she  was  troubled  with  a  kind 
of  catarrh,  and  that  she  could  neither  move  hand  nor  foot.  The 
husband,  who  had  a  great  mind  to  laugh,  pretended  to  be  very 
sorry,  and  by  way  of  cheering  her,  said  that  he  had  invited  the 
pious  preacher  to  supper.  “Oh,  my  dear!”  said  she,  “don’t 
think  of  inviting  such  people,  for  they  bring  ill-luck  wherever 
they  go.” 

“  Why,  my  love,”  replied  the  husband,  “you  know  how  much 
you  have  said  to  me  in  praise  of  this  good  father.  For  my  part, 
I  believe,  if  there  is  a  holy  man  on  earth,  it  is  he.” 

“  They  are  all  very  well  at  church  and  in  the  pulpit,”  she 
rejoined,  “  but  in  private  houses  they  are  antichrists.  Don’t  let 
me  see  him,  my  dear,  1  entreat  you,  for,  ill  as  I  am,  it  would  be 
the  death  of  me.” 

“Well,  you  shall  not  see  him,  since  you  do  not  choose  to  do 
so  ;  but  I  cannot  help  having  him  to  supper.” 

“  Do  as  please,”  said  she  ;  “  only,  for  mercy’s  sake,  let  me  not 
set  eyes  on  him,  for  I  cannot  endure  such  folk.” 

After  entertaining  the  Cordelier  at  supper,  the  husband  said  to 
him,  “  I  look  upon  you,  father,  as  a  man  so  beloved  by  God,  that 
I  am  sure  he  will  grant  any  prayer  of  yours.  I  entreat  you,  then, 
to  have  pity  on  my  poor  wife.  She  has  been  possessed  these 
eighteen  days  by  an  evil  spirit,  so  that  she  wants  to  bite  and 
scratch  everybody,  and  neither  cross  nor  holy  water  does  she  care 


f  24  7 he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

for  one  bit ;  but  I  believe,  firmly,  that  if  you  put  your  hand  on  hci 
the  devil  will  go  away.  From  my  heart,  I  beseech  you  to  do  so.” 

“All  things  are  possible  to  him  who  believes,  my  son,”  replied 
the  good  father.  “  Are  you  not  well  assured  that  God  never 
refuses  his  grace  to  those  who  ask  for  it  with  faith  ?” 

“  I  am  assured  of  this,  father.” 

“  Be  assured  also,  my  son,  that  He  is  able  and  willing,  and 
that  He  is  not  less  mighty  than  munificent.  Let  us  strengthen 
ourselves  in  faith  to  resist  this  roaring  lion,  and  snatch  from  him 
his  prey,  which  God  has  made  his  own  by  the  blood  of  his  Son 
Jesus  Christ.” 

Thereupon  the  gentleman  conducted  the  excellent  man  into 
the  room  where  his  wife  was  resting  on  a  couch.  Believing  that 
it  was  he  who  had  beaten  her,  she  was  reused  to  a  prodigious 
degree  of  fury  at  the  sight  of  him,  but  her  husband’s  presence 
made  her  hang  down  her  head  and  hold  her  tongue.  “  As  long 
as  I  am  present,”  said  the  husband  to  the  good  father,  “  the 
devil  does  not  torment ;  but  as  soon  as  I  leave  her,  you  will 
sprinkle  her  with  holy  water,  and  then  you  will  see  how  violently 
the  evil  spirit  works  her.”  So  saying,  the  husband  left  him  alone 
with  his  wife,  and  stopped  outside  the  door  to  see  what  would  ensue. 

When  she  found  herself  alone  with  the  Cordelier,  she  began  to 
scream  at  him  like  a  mad  woman,  “  Villain  1  cheat!  monster! 
murderer  !  ”  The  Cordelier,  believing  in  good  faith  that  she 
was  possessed,  wanted  to  take  hold  of  her  head,  in  order  to  pray 
over  it  ;  but  she  scratched  and  bit  him  so  fiercely  thaJ  he  was 
obliged  to  stand  further  off,  throwing  plenty  of  holy  water  over 
her,  and  saying  many  good  prayers.  The  husband,  seeing  it  was 
time  to  put  an  end  to  the  farce,  entered  the  room  again,  and 
thanked  the  Cordelier  for  the  pains  he  had  taken.  The  moment 
he  appeared  there  was  end  to  the  wife’s  termagant  behaviour, 
and  she  meekly  kissed  the  cross  for  fear  of  her  husband.  The 
pious  Cordelier,  who  had  seen  her  in  such  a  fury,  believed  firmly 
that  our  Lord  had  expelled  the  devil  at  his  prayer,  and  went  away 
praising  God  for  this  miracle.  The  husband,  seeing  his  wife  so 
well  cured  of  her  folly,  would  never  tell  her  what  he  had  done, 
contenting  himself  with  having  brought  her  back  to  the  right  way 
by  h  is  prudence,  and  having  put  her  into  such  a  frame  of  mind 
that  she  mortally  hated  what  she  had  so  unwisely  loved,  and  was 
filled  with  detestation  for  her  own  infatuation.  Thenceforth  she 
was  weaned  from  all  superstition,  and  devoted  herself  to  her 
husband  and  her  family  in  a  very  different  way  from  what  she 
had  done  before. 


Novel  35.]  Fourth  Day.  225 

“  Here  you  may  see,  ladies,  the  good  sense  of  the  husband, 
and  the  weakness  of  one  who  was  regarded  as  a  woman  of  strict 
propriety.  If  you  attend  well  to  this  example,  I  am  persuaded 
that,  instead  of  relying  on  your  own  strength,  you  will  learn  to 
turn  to  Him  on  whom  your  honour  depends. 

“  I  am  very  glad,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  you  are  become  the 
ladies’  preacher  ;  you  would  be  so  with  better  right  if  you  would 
address  the  same  sermons  to  all  those  you  hold  discourse  with.” 

“  Whenever  you  please  to  hear  me,”  he  replied,  “  I  assure  you 
I  will  speak  the  same  language  to  you.” 

“That  is  to  say,”  observed  Simontault,  “  that  when  you  are 
not  by  he  will  talk  to  a  different  purpose.” 

“  He  will  do  as  he  pleases,”  said  Parlamente,  “  but,  for  my 
own  satisfaction,  I  would  have  him  always  speak  thus.  The 
example  he  has  adduced  will  at  least  be  of  service  to  those 
women  who  think  that  spiritual  love  is  not  dangerous  ;  but  to  me 
it  seems  that  it  is  more  so  than  any  other.” 

“  I  cannot  think,  however,”  remarked  Oisille,  “  that  one  should 
scorn  to  love  a  man  who  is  virtuous  and  fears  God  ;  for,  in  my 
opinion,  one  cannot  but  be  the  better  for  it.” 

“I  pray  you  to  believe,  madam,”  rejoined  Parlamente,  “that 
nothing  can  be  more  simple-willed  and  easy  to  deceive  than  a 
woman  who  has  never  loved  ;  for  love  is  a  passion  which  takes 
possession  of  the  heart  before  one  is  aware  of  it.  Besides,  this 
passion  is  so  pleasing  that,  provided  one  can  wrap  oneself  up  in 
virtue  as  in  a  cloak,  it  will  be  scarcely  known  before  some  mis¬ 
chief  will  come  of  it.” 

“  What  mischief  can  come  of  loving  a  good  man,”  said 
Oisille. 

“There  are  plenty,  madam,”  replied  Parlamente,  “who  pass 
for  good  men  as  far  as  ladies  are  concerned  ;  but  there  are  few 
who  are  so  truly  good  before  God  that  one  may  love  them  with¬ 
out  any  risk  to  honour  or  conscience.  I  do  not  believe  that 
there  is  one  such  man  living.  Those  who  are  of  a  different 
opinion,  and  trust  in  it,  become  its  dupes.  They  begin  this 
sort  of  tender  intimacy  with  God,  and  often  end  it  with  the 
devil.  I  have  seen  many  a  one  who,  under  colour  of  talking 
about  divine  things,  began  an  intimacy  which  at  last  they  wished 
to  break  off,  but  could  not,  so  fast  were  they  held  by  the  fine 
cloak  with  w'hich  it  was  covered.  A  vicious  love  perishes  and 
has  no  long  abode  in  a  good  heart  ;  but  decorous  love  has  bonds 
of  silk  so  fine  and  delicate  that  one  is  caught  in  them  before  one 
perceives  them.”  q 


226  Tne  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Nav art e. 

“  According  to  your  views,  then,**  said  Ennasuite,  “  no  wo  n<*n 
ought  ever  to  love  a  man.  Your  law  is  too  violent  ;  it  will  not 
last” 

“  I  know  that,”  replied  Parlamente  ;  “  but  for  all  that,  it  is 
desirable  that  every  woman  should  be  content  with  her  own 
husband,  as  I  am  with  mine.” 

Ennasuite,  taking  these  words  personally,  changed  colour,  and 
said,  “You  ought  10  think  everyone  the  same  at  heart  as  yourself, 
unless  you  set  yourself  up  for  being  more  perfect  than  the  rest  of 
your  sex.” 

“To  avoid  dispute,”  said  Parlamente,  “let  us  see  to  whom 
Hircan  will  give  his  voice.” 

“  I  give  it  to  Ennasuite,”  said  he,  ‘in  order  to  make  up  mat¬ 
ters  between  her  and  my  wife.” 

“  Since  it  is  my  turn  to  speak,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  I  will  spare 
neither  man  nor  woman,  so  as  to  make  both  sides  even.  You 
find  it  hard  to  overcome  yourselves  and  admit  the  probity  and 
virtue  of  men.  This  obliges  me  to  relate  a  story  of  the  same 
nature  as  the  preceding  one.” 


NOVEL  XXXVI. 

A  President  of  Grenoble,  becoming  aware  of  his  wife’s  irregularities,  took  his 
measures  so  wisely  that  he  revenged  himself  without  any  public  exposure  of 
his  dishonour. 

HERE  was  at  Grenoble  a  president  whose  name  I  shall  not 
mention.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  he  was  not  a  French¬ 
man,  that  he  had  a  very  handsome  wife,  and  that  they 
lived  very  happily  together.  The  husband,  however, 
being  old,  the  lady  thought  fit  to  love  a  young  clerk  named  Nicolas. 
When  the  husband  went  in  the  morning  to  the  Palace  of  Justice, 
the  clerk  used  to  step  into  the  bedchamber  and  take  his  place. 
An  old  domestic  of  the  president’s,  who  had  been  in  his  service 
for  thirty  years,  discovered  this,  and  as  a  faithful  servant,  could 
not  help  revealing  it  to  his  master.  The  president,  who  was  a 
prudent  man,  would  not  believe  the  fact  without  inquiry,  and 
told  the  servant  that  he  wanted  to  create  dissension  between  him 
and  his  wife  ;  adding,  that  if  the  fact  was  as  he  stated,  he  could 
easily  give  him  ocular  proof  of  it,  and  if  he  failed  to  do  so,  then 
he,  the  president,  would  believe  that  the  servant  had  trumped  up 
his  lying  tale  to  make  mischief  between  husband  and  wife. 


Novel  36.]  Fourth  Day.  227 

The  valet  assured  him  that  he  should  see  what  he  had  told 
him. 

One  morning,  when  the  president  had  gone  to  the  palace,  and 
the  clerk  had  stolen  into  the  bedroom  as  usual,  the  valet  sent  one 
of  his  fellow-servants  to  apprise  the  president,  while  he  himself 
remained  on  the  watch  before  the  bedroom  door,  to  see  if  Nico¬ 
las  came  out.  The  president,  on  seeing  the  messenger  beckon 
to  him,  immediately  quitted  the  court  on  pretence  of  sudden  ill¬ 
ness,  and  hurried  home,  where  he  found  his  old  servant  standing 
sentry  at  the  bedroom  door,  and  was  assured  by  him  that  Nicolas 
was  inside,  having  gone  in  not  long  before.  “  Remain  at  the 
door,”  said  the  president.  “  There  is  no  other  way  to  get  in  or 
out  of  the  room,  as  thou  knowest,  except  a  little  closet,  of  which 
I  always  keep  the  key.” 

The  president  enters  the  room,  and  finds  his  wife  and  the 
clerk  in  bed  together.  Nicolas,  who  did  not  expect  such  a  visit, 
threw  himself  in  his  shirt  at  his  master’s  feet,  and  implored  par¬ 
don,  whilst  the  lady  fell  a  crying.  “  Though  what  you  have 
done,”  said  the  president  to  her,  “  is  as  bad  as  it  can  be,  I  do 
not  choose  to  have  the  credit  of  my  house  blasted  for  you,  and 
the  daughters  I  have  had  by  you  made  the  sufferers.  I  command 
you,  then,  to  cease  your  crying,  and  see  what  I  am  going  to  do. 
As  for  you,  Nicolas,”  said  he  to  the  clerk,  “  hide  yourself  in  my 
cabinet,  and  make  no  noise.” 

Nicolas  having  done  as  he  ordered,  he  opened  the  door,  and 
calling  in  the  old  servant,  said  to  him,  “  Didst  thou  not  assure 
me  thou  wouldst  show  me  my  clerk  in  bed  with  my  wife  ?  I 
came  hither  on  the  strength  of  thy  word,  and  thought  to  kill  my 
wife.  I  have  found  nothing,  though  I  have  searched  everywhere. 
Search  thyself,  under  the  beds  and  in  all  directions. 

The  valet,  having  searched  and  found  nothing,  said  to  his 
master,  “  The  devil  must  have  flown  away  with  him  ;  for  I  saw 
him  go  in,  and  he  did  not  come  out  by  the  door  ;  however,  I  see 
he  is  not  here.” 

“  Thou  art  a  very  bad  servant,”  said  his  master,  “to  want  to 
put  such  division  between  my  wife  and  me.  Begone  ;  1  discharge 
thee,  and  for  the  services  thou  hast  rendered  me,  I  will  pay  thee 
what  I  owe  thee  and  more  ;  but  get  thee  gone  quickly,  and 
beware  how  thou  art  found  in  this  city  after  twenty-four  hours 
are  past.” 

The  president  paid  him  his  wages,  and  five  or  six  years  over  ; 
and  as  he  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  his  fidelity,  he  resolved 
within  himself  to  reward  him  still  more.  When  the  valet  had 


228  The  Heptameroti  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

gone  away  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  the  president  called  the  clerk 
out  of  the  cabinet,  and  after  having  given  him  and  his  wife  such 
a  lecture  as  they  deserved,  he  forbade  them  both  to  give  the  least 
hint  of  the  matter  to  anyone.  His  wife  he  ordered  to  dress 
more  elegantly  than  she  had  been  used  to  do,  and  to  let  herself 
be  seen  at  all  parties  and  entertainments.  As  to  the  clerk, 
he  ordered  him  to  make  better  cheer  than  before  ;  but  that  as 
soon  as  he  should  whisper  in  his  ear  the  words  “  Go  away,”  he 
should  take  good  care  not  to  remain  three  hours  longer  in  the 
city. 

For  a  fortnight  the  president  did  nothing  but  feast  his  friends 
and  neighbours,  contrary  to  his  previous  custom,  and  after  the 
repast  he  gave  a  ball  to  the  ladies.  One  day,  seeing  that  his 
wife  did  not  dance,  he  ordered  the  clerk  to  dance  with  her. 
The  clerk,  thinking  he  had  forgotten  the  past,  danced  gaily  with 
the  lady  ;  but  when  the  ball  was  over,  the  president,  feigning  to 
have  some  order  to  give  him  about  household  matters,  whispered 
in  his  ear,  “  Begone,  and  never  come  back.”  Sore  loth  was 
Nicolas  to  leave  the  lady- president,  but  very  glad  to  get  off 
safe  and  sound.  After  the  president  had  fully  impressed  all  his 
relations  and  friends,  and  all  the  inhabitants  of  Grenoble,  with 
the  belief  that  he  was  very  fond  of  his  wife,  he  went  one  fine  day 
in  the  month  of  May  into  his  garden  to  gather  a  salad.  I  do 
not  know  what  herbs  it  was  composed  of ;  but  I  know  that  his 
wife  did  not  live  twenty-four  hours  after  eating  of  it,  whereat  he 
appeared  greatly  afflicted,  and  played  the  disconsolate  widower 
so  well  that  no  one  ever  suspected  him  of  having  killed  her. 
In  this  way  he  revenged  himself  and  saved  the  honour  of  his 
house.* 

I  do  not  pretend,  ladies,  to  laud  the  president’s  conscience  ; 

*  In  a  manuscript  French  dictionary  of  the  Beauties  and  Curiosities  of 
Dauphind,  there  is  an  article  which  says  that  “in  the  Rue  des  Clercs,  at 
Grenoble,  was  formerly  to  be  seen  over  the  hall  door  of  the  house  of  Nicholas 
Prunier  de  Saint  Andrd,  president  of  the  Parliament  of  Grenoble,  a  stone  es¬ 
cutcheon,  supported  by  an  angel,  and  bearing  a  lion  de  gueule  on  a  field  or. 
These  arms  were  those  of  the  Carles  family,  which  became  extinct  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  angel  that  supported  the  escutcheon  held  the  fore¬ 
finger  of  one  hand  to  his  mouth  in  a  mysterious  manner,  as  if  to  enjoin  secrecy 
Geoffroy  Carles,  sole  president  of  the  Parliament  of  Grenoble  in  1505,  put  it 
up  over  that  house,  which  belonged  to  him.  He,  indeed,  had  long  dissembled 
before  he  found  an  opportunity  to  be  revenged  for  the  infidelity  of  his  wife, 
by  causing  her  to  be  drowned  by  the  mule  she  rode  at  the  passage  of  a  tor¬ 
rent.  He  had  purposely  ordered  that  the  mule  should  be  left  several  days 


Novel  36.]  Fourth  Day.  22  9 

but  my  design  is  to  exhibit  the  levity  of  a  woman,  and  the  great 
patience  and  prudence  of  a  man.  Do  not  be  offended,  ladies,  I 
beseech  you,  with  the  truth,  which  sometimes  tells  against  you 
as  well  as  against  the  men  ;  for  women,  too,  have  their  vices 
as  well  as  their  virtues. 

“  If  all  those  who  have  intrigued  with  their  valets  were  com¬ 
pelled  to  eat  such  salads,”  said  Parlamente,  “  I  know  those  who 
would  not  be  so  fond  of  their  gardens  as  they  are,  but  would 
pluck  up  all  the  herbs  in  them,  to  avoid  those  which  save  the 
honour  of  children  at  the  expense  of  a  wanton  mother’s  life.” 

Hircan,  who  guessed  for  whom  she  meant  this,  replied  with 
great  warmth,  “  A  woman  of  honour  should  never  suspect  another 
of  things  she  would  not  do  herself.” 

“To  know  is  not  to  suspect,”  rejoined  Parlamente.  “How¬ 
ever,  this  poor  woman  paid  the  penalty  which  many  deserve. 
Moreover,  I  think  that  the  president,  being  bent  on  avenging 
himself,  could  not  set  about  it  with  more  prudence  and  discre¬ 
tion.” 

“  Nor  with  more  ' malice,”  Longarine  subjoined.  “It  was  a 
cold-blooded  and  cruel  vengeance,  which  plainly  showed  that  he 
respected  neither  God  nor  his  conscience.” 

“What  would  you  have  had  him  do,  then,”  said  Hircan,  “to 
revenge  the  most  intolerable  outrage  a  wife  can  ever  offer  to 
her  husband  ?  ” 

“  I  would  have  had  him  kill  her,”  she  answered,  “  in  the  first 
transports  of  his  indignation.  The  doctors  say  that  such  a  sin  is 
more  pardonable,  because  a  man  is  not  master  of  such  emotions ; 
and  consequently,  the  sin  he  commits  in  that  state  may  be 
forgiven.” 

“  Yes,”  said  Geburon,  “  but  his  daughters  and  his  descendants 
would  have  been  disgraced  for  ever.” 

without  drink.  This  occurrence,  which  appeared  in  print  in  several  places, 
was  made  the  subject  of  one  of  the  novels  of  that  time,  in  which,  however,  the 
names  of  the  persons  concerned  are  not  given.  Geoffroy  was  so  learned  in 
the  Latin  tongue,  and  in  the  humanities  that  Queen  Anne  of  Bretagne,  wife 
of  Louis  XII,,  selected  him  to  teach  that  tongue  and  the  belles  lettres  to  her 
daughter  Ren^e,  who  was  afterwards  Duchess  of  Ferrara.  This  same  Geoffroy 
Carles  was  made  knight  of  arms  and  of  laws  by  Louis  XII.  in  1509.”  This  is 
probably  the  person  meant  by  the  Queen  of  Navarre,  though  she  gives  a  dif¬ 
ferent  account  of  the  manner  in  which  he  put  his  wife  to  death.  The  story, 
however,  appears  to  be  older  than  the  times  of  Geoffroy  Carles,  since  it  is  related 
of  a  president  of  Provence  in  the  Cent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles  (No.  47),  which 
were  composed  br  tween  the  years  1456  and  1461,  and  first  printed  in  Paris  ii> 
1486. 


230 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 

“  He  ought  not  to  have  poisoned  her,”  said  Longarine,  “  foi 
since  his  first  great  wrath  was  past,  she  might  have  lived  with 
him  like  an  honest  woman,  and  nothing  would  ever  have  been 
said  about  the  matter.” 

“  Do  you  suppose,”  said  Saffredent,  “that  he  was  appeased, 
though  he  pretended  to  be  so  ?  For  my  part,  I’m  persuaded  that 
the  day  he  mixed  his  salad  his  wrath  was  as  hot  as  on  the 
very  first  day.  There  are  people  whose  first  emotions  never 
subside  until  they  have  accomplished  the  dictates  of  their 
passion.” 

“  It  is  well  to  ponder  one’s  words,”  said  Parlamente,  “when 
one  has  to  do  with  people  so  dangerous  as  you.  What  I  said  is 
to  be  understood  of  an  anger  so  violent  that  it  suddenly  en¬ 
grosses  the  senses,  and  hinders  reason  from  acting.” 

“  I  take  it  in  ihat  very  sense,”  replied  Saffredent,  “  and  I  say 
that  of  two  men  who  commit  a  fault,  he  who  is  very  amorous  is 
more  pardonable  than  the  other  who  is  not  so  ;  for  when  one 
loves  well,  reason  is  not  easily  mistress.  If  we  would  speak 
truly,  we  must  own  there  is  not  one  of  us  but  has  some  time  or 
other  experienced  that  furious  madness,  and  yet  hopes  for  grace. 
Let  us  say,  then,  that  true  love  is  a  ladder  by  which  to  ascend  to 
the  perfect  love  which  we  owe  to  God.  No  one  can  ascend 
to  it  but  through  the  afflictions  and  calamities  of  this  world, 
and  through  the  love  of  his  neighbour,  to  whom  he  ought  to 
wish  as  much  good  as  to  himself.  This  is  the  true  bond  of  per¬ 
fection  ;  for  as  St.  John  says,  ‘  How  can  you  love  God  whom 
you  do  not  see,  unless  you  love  your  neighbour,  whom  you  do 
see  ?  ’  ” 

“There  is  no  fine  text  in  Scripture  which  you  may  not  warp  to 
your  own  purposes,”  said  Oisille.  “  Beware  of  doing  like  the 
spider,  which  extracts  a  poison  from  every  good  viand  ;  for  I 
warn  you  that  it  is  dangerous  to  quote  Scripture  out  of  place, 
and  without  necessity.” 

“  Do  you  mean  to  say,  then,”  returned  Saffredent,  “  that  when 
we  talk  to  your  unbelieving  sex,  and  call  God  to  our  aid,  we  take 
his  name  in  vain?  .If  there  is  sin  in  this,  it  all  lies  at  your 
door,  since  your  unbelief  constrains  us  to  use  all  the  oaths  we 
can  think  of  ;  and  even  so  we  cannot  kindle  your  icy  hearts.” 

“A  plain  proof,”  said  Longarine,  “that  you  all  lie  ;  for  if  you 
spoke  the  truth,  it  is  so  potent  that  it  would  persuade  us.  All 
that  is  to  be  feared  is  lest  the  daughters  of  Eve  too  easily  believe 
in  the  serpent.” 

“I  see  plainly  how  it  is,"  said  Saffredent;  “ the  women  are 


Novel  37.  Fourth  Day .  231 

invincible.  So  I  give  up  the  game  to  see  on  whom  Ennasuite 
will  call/’ 

“  On  Dagoucin,”  she  said,  “who,  I  think,  will  not  be  disposed 
to  speak  against  the  ladies.” 

“Would  to  God,”  said  he,  “that  they  were  as  favourable  to 
me  as  I  am  disposed  to  speak  so  of  them.  To  show  you  that  I 
have  endeavoured  to  do  honour  to  the  virtuous  of  their  sex  by  the 
pains  I  have  taken  to  learn  their  good  actions,  I  will  relate 
one  of  those  to  you.  I  will  not  say,  ladies,  that  the  patience  of 
the  gentleman  of  Pampelune  and  of  the  president  of  Grenoble 
was  not  great,  but  I  maintain  that  their  vindictiveness  was  nc 
less  so.  In  praising  a  virtuous  man,  we  must  not  so  much  exalt 
a  single  virtue  as  to  make  it  serve  as  a  cloak  and  cover  for  so 
great  a  vice.  A  woman  who  has  done  a  virtuous  action  for  the 
love  of  virtue  itself  is  truly  laudable.  An  instance  of  this  I  will 
give  you  in  the  story  I  am  about  to  tell  you  of  a  young  married 
lady,  whose  good  deed  had  for  motive  only  the  honour  of  God 
and  the  salvation  of  her  husband.” 


NOVEL  XXXVII. 

Judicious  proceedings  of  a  wife  to  withdraw  her  husband  from  a  low  intrigue 

with  which  he  was  infatuated. 

CERTAIN  lady  of  the  house  of  Loue  was  so  good  and 
virtuous  that  she  was  loved  and  esteemed  by  all  her 
neighbours.  Her  husband  with  good  reason  confided 
to  her  all  his  affairs,  which  she  managed  so  discreetly 
that  in  a  short  while  their  house  became  under  her  hands  one  of 
the  richest  and  best  furnished  in  Anjou  and  Touraine.  She  lived 
long  with  her  husband,  and  had  several  fine  children  by  him  ; 
but  as  there  is  no  enduring  felicity  here  below,  hers  began  to  be 
crossed.  Her  husband,  not  feeling  satisfied  with  a  life  of  such 
perfect  ease,  had  a  mind  to  try  if  trouble  would  increase  his 
enjoyment.  His  wife  was  no  sooner  asleep  than  he  used  to  get 
up  from  beside  her,  and  not  return  till  daylight.  The  lady  took  this 
conduct  so  much  to  heart  that  falling  into  a  profound  melancholy, 
which  yet  she  tried  to  conceal,  she  neglected  the  affairs  of  her 
house,  her  person,  and  her  family,  thinking  she  had  lost  the  fruit 
of  her  labours  in  losing  her  husband’s  love,  to  preserve  which 
there  was  no  pains  she  would  not  willingly  have  sustained.  But 
as  she  saw  he  was  lost  to  her,  she  became  so  negligent  of  every¬ 
thing  else  that  the  consequences  were  soon  seen  in  the  mischief 


232  The  H'eptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

that  ensued.  On  the  one  hand,  the  husband  spent  without  order 
or  measure  ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  wife  no  longer  attending  to 
the  affairs  of  the  house,  they  soon  became  so  involved  that  the 
timber  began  to  be  felled,  and  the  lands  to  be  mortgaged.  One  of 
her  relations,  who  knew  her  secret  grief,  remonstrated  with  her  on 
the  fault  she  committed,  and  told  her  that  if  she  did  not  regard 
the  fortunes  of  the  family  for  her  husband’s  sake,  she  ought  at 
least  to  consider  her  poor  children.  This  argument  struck  her; 
she  rallied  her  spirits,  and  resolved  to  try  by  every  means  to  regain 
her  husband’s  love. 

Next  night,  perceiving  that  he  rose  from  beside  her,  she  also 
got  up,  put  on  her  night-wrapper,  had  her  bed  made,  and  sat 
down  to  read  for  hours  until  his  return.  When  he  entered  the 
room,  she  went  up  and  kissed  him,  and  presented  a  basin  and  water 
to  him  to  wash  his  hands.  Her  husband,  astonished  at  this  extra¬ 
ordinary  behaviour,  told  her  that  he  had  only  been  to  the  privy, 
and  that  he  had  no  need  to  wash.  She  replied,  that  although  it 
was  no  great  matter,  still  it  was  decent  to  wash  one’s  hands  when 
one  came  from  so  nasty  a  place,  thereby  wishing  to  make  him 
know  and  hate  his  wicked  way  of  life.  As  this  did  not  produce 
any  amendment  in  him,  she  continued  the  same  course  of  pro¬ 
ceeding  for  a  year,  but  still  without  success. 

This  being  the  case,  one  night,  when  she  was  waiting  for  her 
husband,  who  stayed  away  longer  than  usual,  she  took  it  into  her 
head  to  go  after  him.  She  did  so,  and  looking  for  him  in  cham¬ 
ber  afier  chamber,  she  at  last  found  him  in  a  back  lumber-room 
in  bed  with  the  ugliest  and  dirtiest  servant  wench  about  the 
house.  To  teach  him  to  quit  so  handsome  and  so  cleanly  a  wife 
tor  so  ugly  and  frousy  a  servant,  she  took  some  straw  and  set  it 
on  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  But  seeing  that  the  smoke 
would  as  soon  smother  her  husband  as  awake  him,  she  pulled 
him  by  the  arm,  crying  out  “  Fire  1  fire!”  If  the  husband  was 
ashamed  and  confounded  at  being  found  by  so  worthy  a  wife 
with  such  a  swinish  bedfellow,  it  was  not  without  great  reason. 
“For  more  than  a  year,  sir,”  said  his  wife,  “have  I  been  endea¬ 
vouring  by  gentleness  and  patience  to  withdraw  you  from  such  a 
wicked  life,  and  make  you  comprehend  that,  while  washing  the 
outside,  you  ought  to  make  the  inside  clean  also  ;  but  when  I  saw 
that  all  my  efforts  were  useless,  I  bethought  me  of  employing  the 
element  which  is  to  put  an  end  to  all  things.  If  this  does  not 
correct  you,  sir,  I  know  not  if  I  shall  be  able  another  time  to 
withdraw  you  from  the  danger  as  I  have  done  now.  I  pray  you 
to  consider  that  there  is  no  greater  despair  than  that  of  slighted 


Novel  37.J  Fourth  Day .  233 

love,  and  that  if  I  had  not  had  God  before  my  eyes,  I  could  not 
have  been  patient  so  long.” 

The  husband,  glad  to  be  let  off  so  cheaply,  promised  that  for 
the  future  he  would  never  give  her  cause  for  sorrow.  The  wife 
gladly  believed  him,  and  with  his  consent  turned  away  the  ser¬ 
vant  who  offended  her.  They  lived  so  happily  afterwards  that 
even  past  faults  were  for  them  a  source  of  increased  satisfaction, 
in  consequence  of  the  good  that  had  resulted  from  them. 

If  God  gives  you  such  husbands,  ladies,  do  not  despair,  I 
entreat  you,  before  you  have  tried  all  means  to  reclaim  them. 
There  are  four-and-twenty  hours  in  the  day,  and  there  is  not  a 
moment  in  which  a  man  may  not  change  his  mind.  A  wife 
ought  to  esteem  herself  happier  in  having  regained  her  husband 
by  her  patience,  than  if  fortune  and  her  relations  had  given  her 
one  more  faultless.  * 

“There,”  said  Oisille,  “is  an  example  for  all  married  women 
to  follow.” 

“  Follow  it  who  will,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “but  for  my  part  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  be  so  patient.  Although,  in  every 
condition  in  which  one  is  placed,  patience  is  a  fine  virtue,  it  seems 
to  me,  nevertheless,  that  in  matrimonial  matters  it  at  last  pro¬ 
duces  enmity.  The  reason  is  that,  suffering  from  one’s  mate,  one 
is  constrained  to  keep  aloof  from  the  offender  as  much  as  pos¬ 
sible.  From  this  alienation  springs  contempt  for  the  faithless  one, 
and  this  contempt  gradually  diminishes  love  ;  for  one  loves  a 
thing  only  in  proportion  as  one  esteems  it.” 

“But  it  is  to  be  feared,”  said  Ennasuite,  “that  the  impatient 
wife  would  meet  with  a  furious  husband,  who,  instead  of  patience, 
would  cause  her  sorrow  ” 

“And  what  worse  could  a  husband  do  than  we  have  just 
heard  ?”  said  Parlamente. 

“What  could  he  do?”  rejoined  Ennasuite.  “Beat  his  wife 
soundly,  make  her  sleep  on  the  little  bed,  and  put  her  he  loves 
into  the  best  bed.”f 

“  I  believe,”  said  Parlamente,  “  it  would  be  less  painful  to  a 

*  The  subject  of  this  novel  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  story  of  the  Dame  de 
Langalier,  related  by  the  Seigneur  de  Latour- Landry  to  his  daughters,  in 
the  book  he  wrote  for  their  instruction.  (See  Leroux  de  Lincy,  Femmes  Cittbrcs 
de  V  Ancienne  France ,  i.  356.) 

+  In  France,  formerly,  It  was  customary  to  have  in  all  well-furnished  bed¬ 
rooms  two  beds,  a  principal  one  and  another  much  smaller  for  the  confidential 
servant,  who  always  slept  in  his  master’s  room.  See  Novel  XXXIX. 


2  j4  The  Heptamer on  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

right-minded  woman  to  be  beaten  in  a  fit  of  passion  than  to 
be  despised  by  a  husband  who  was  not  worthy  of  her.  After 
the  rupture  of  wedded  affection,  the  husband  could  do  nothing 
which  could  be  more  painful  to  the  wife.  Accordingly,  the  tale 
states  that  the  lady  took  pains  to  bring  back  the  truant  only  for 
the  sake  of  her  children — a  fact  I  can  readily  believe." 

“  Do  you  think  it  a  great  proof  of  patience  in  a  woman,”  said 
Normefide,  “  to  kindle  a  fire  on  the  floor  of  a  roomi  n  which  her 
husband  is  sleeping  ?  ” 

“Yes,"  said  Longarine,  “for  when  she  saw  the  smoke  she 
woke  him  up  ;  and  that  was  perhaps  the  greatest  fault  she  com¬ 
mitted,  for  the  ashes  of  such  husbands  would  be  good  to  make 
lye  withal." 

“You  are  cruel,  Longarine,"  said  Oisille.  “Yet  that  is  not 
the  way  in  which  you  lived  with  your  husband." 

“No,"  replied  Longarine,  “for,  thank  God,  he  never  gave  me 
cause  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  must  regret  him  as  long  as  I  live, 
instead  of  complaining  of  him." 

“  And  if  he  had  treated  you  otherwise,"  said  Normefide,  “  what 
would  you  have  done?” 

“1  loved  him  so  much,”  replied  Longarine,  “that  I  believe  I 
should  have  killed  him  and  myself  afterwards.  After  having 
thus  avenged  myself,  I  should  have  found  more  pleasure  in  dying 
than  in  living  with  a  faithless  man.” 

“So  far  as  I  can  see,"  observed  Hircan,  “you  love  your 
husbands  only  for  your  own  sakes.  If  they  commit  the  least 
fault  on  Saturday,  they  lose  their  whole  week’s  labour.  Do  you 
want  to  be  mistresses,  then  ?  For  my  part,  I  am  willing  to  have 
it  so,  if  other  husbands  will  consent  to  it." 

“  It  is  reasonable  that  the  man  should  rule  us,"  said  Parla- 
mente  ;  “  but  it  is  not  reasonable  that  he  should  forsake  and  ill- 
use  us.’’ 

“  God  has  so  wisely  ordained,  both  for  the  man  and  for  the 
woman,"  said  Oisille,  “that  I  believe  marriage,  provided  it  be 
not  abused,  is  one  of  the  best  and  happiest  conditions  in  life.  I 
am  persuaded  that  all  present  are  as  much  impressed  with  that 
opinion  as  myself,  or  even  more  so,  however  they  may  affect  to 
think  otherwise.  As  the  man  esteems  himself  wiser  than  the 
woman,  the  fault  will  be  more  severely  punished  if  it  comes  from 
him.  But  enough  of  this.  Let  us  know  on  whom  Dagoucin 
will  call." 

“  On  Longarine,"  was  the  reply. 

“  You  give  me  great  pleasure,"  said  Longarine  ;  “  for  I  have  a 


Novel  38.  |  Fourth  Day.  235 

story  which  is  worthy  to  follow  yours.  Since  we  are  upon  the 
praise  of  virtuous  patience  in  ladies,  I  will  tell  you  of  one  whose 
conduct  was  still  more  laudable  than  hers  of  whom  you  have 
just  heard,  and  was  the  more  commendable  as  she  was  a  city 
lady,  a  class  who  are  usually  less  trained  to  virtue  than  others.” 


NOVEL  XXXVIII. 

Memorable  charity  of  a  lady  of  Tours  with  regard  to  her  faithless  husband. 

HERE  was  at  Tours  a  handsome  and  discreet  bourgeoise, 
who,  for  her  virtues,  was  not  only  loved  but  feared  by 
her  husband.  However,  as  husbands  are  frail,  and 
often  grow  tired  of  always  eating  good  bread,  hers 
fell  in  love  with  one  of  his  mdtay£res.*  He  used  frequently  to 
go  from  Tours  to  visit  his  mdtairie,  always  remained  there 
two  or  three  days,  and  always  came  back  so  jaded  and  out 
of  sorts  that  his  poor  wife  had  trouble  enough  to  set  him 
up  again.  But  no  sooner  was  he  himself  once  more,  than  back 
he  would  go  to  his  m^tairie,  where  pleasure  made  him  forget  all 
his  ailments.  His  wife,  who  loved  his  life  and  health  above  all 
things,  seeing  him  always  come  back  in  such  a  bad  plight,  went 
to  the  mdtairie,  where  she  found  the  young  woman  whom  her 
husband  loved,  and  said  to  her,  not  angrily,  but  in  the  gentlest 
manner  possible,  that  she  knew  her  husband  often  visited  her, 
but  was  sorry  she  treated  him  so  badly  as  invariably  to  send  him 
home  ill.  The  poor  woman,  constrained  by  respect  for  her 
mistress  and  by  the  force  of  truth,  had  not  courage  to  deny  the 
fact,  and  besought  pardon.  The  Tourangeaude  f  desired  to  see 
the  room  and  the  bed  in  which  her  husband  slept.  The  room 
struck  her  as  so  cold  and  dirty  that  she  was  struck  with  pity,  and 
sent  straightway  for  a  good  bed,  fine  blankets,  sheets,  and 
counterpane  after  her  husband’s  taste.  She  had  the  room  made 
clean  and  neat,  and  hung  with  tapestry,  gave  the  woman  a 
handsome  service  of  plate,  a  pipe  of  good  wine,  sweetmeats,  and 
confections,  and  begged  her  for  the  future  not  to  send  her 
husband  back  to  her  in  so  broken-down  a  condition. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  husband  went  to  see  the  mdtay&re 
as  usual  ;  and  great  was  his  surprise  to  find  the  sorry  room  be- 

*  Melayere.  It  was  usual  in  France,  before  the  Revolution,  for  the  owner  of 
a  farm  to  supply  the  tenant  with  seed,  &c. ,  and  to  receive  a  proportion  of  th« 
crop  in  lieu  of  rent.  A  farm  managed  on  this  principle  was  called  a  metairie , 
and  the  farmer  a  metayer,  feminine,  metayere. 
f  Woman  of  Touraine. 


236  The  Heptameron  oj  the  Queen  oj  Navarre . 

come  so  neat,  but  still  greater  was  it  when  she  gave  him  a  silver 
cup  to  drink  out  of.  He  asked  her  where  it  came  from,  and  the 
poor  woman  told  him  with  tears  that  it  was  his  wife  who,  pitying 
his  poor  entertainment,  had  thus  furnished  the  house,  er  joining 
her  to  be  careful  of  his  health.  Struck  by  the  great  goodness 
of  his  wife,  who  thus  returned  so  much  good  for  so  much  evil, 
the  gentleman  reproached  himself  for  ingratitude  as  great  as  his 
wife’s  generosity.  He  gave  his  m£tay&re  money,  begged  her 
thenceforth  to  live  like  an  honest  woman,  and  went  back  to  his 
wife.  He  confessed  the  whole  truth  to  her,  and  told  her  that 
her  gentleness  and  goodness  had  withdrawn  him  from  a  bad 
course,  from  which  it  was  impossible  he  should  ever  have 
escaped  by  any  other  means  ;  and  forgetting  the  past,  they  lived 
thenceforth  together  in  great  peace  and  concord.* 

There  are  very  few  husbands,  ladies,  whom  the  wife  does  not  win 
in  the  long  run  by  patience  and  love,  unless  they  are  harder  than 
the  rocks  which  yet  the  weak  and  soft  water  pierces  in  time. 

“  Why,  this  woman  had  neither  heart,  nor  gall,  nor  liver  !  ” 
exclaimed  Parlamente. 

“What  would  you  have?”  said  Longarine ;  “she  did  as 
God  commands,  rendering  good  for  evil.” 

“I  fancy,”  said  Hircan,  “that  she  was  in  love  with  some 
Cordelier,  who  ordered  her  as  a  penance  to  have  her  husband  so 
well  treated  in  the  country,  in  order  that  while  he  was  there  she 
might  have  leisure  to  treat  himself  well  in  town.” 

“  In  this  you  plainly  show  the  wickedness  of  your  own  heart,” 
said  Oisille,  “judging  so  ill  of  a  good  deed.  I  believe,  on  the 
contrary,  that  she  was  so  penetrated  by  the  love  of  God  that 
she  cared  for  nothing  but  her  husband’s  welfare. ” 

“It  strikes  me,”  said  Simontault,  “that  he  had  more  reason 
to  return  to  his  wife  during  the  time  he  was  in  such  bad  case  at 
the  m^tairie  than  when  he  was  made  so  comfortable  there.” 

“  I  see,”  said  Saffredent,  “that  you  are  not  of  the  same  way  of 

*  This  tale  is  related  by  the  author  of  the  Menagier  de  Paris,  i.  237,  ed.  1847, 
published  by  the  Soci^te  des  Bibliophiles  Frangais.  It  is  the  72nd  of  Morlini, 
and  is  in  the  manuscript  copy  of  the  Varii  Succedi  of  Orologi,  mentioned  by 
Borromo.  The  French  and  Italian  tales  agree  in  the  most  minute  circum. 
stances,  even  in  the  name  of  the  place  where  the  lady  resided.  Erasmus  also 
relates  this  tale  in  one  of  his  colloquies,  entitled  Uxor  Me/ixf/aya/ios  sive  Con- 
lugium  ;  and  it  occurs  in  Albion’s  England,  a  poem  by  William  Warner,  who 
was  a  celebrated  writer  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth  ;  those  stanzas  which 
contain  the  incident  have  been  extracted  from  that  poetical  epitome  of  English 
history,  and  published  in  Percy’s  Relics  under  the  title  of  the  Patie.it  Countess 


Novel  39  ]  Fourth  Day.  23 } 

thinking  as  a  rich  man  of  Paris,  who,  when  he  lay  with  his  wife, 
could  not  lay  aside  the  least  of  his  mufflings  without  catching 
cold  ;  but  when  he  went  to  see  the  servant  girl  in  the  cellar, 
without  cap  or  shoes,  in  the  depth  of  winter,  he  never  was  a  bit 
the  worse  for  it.  Yet  his  wife  was  very  handsome,  and  the 
servant  very  ugly.” 

“  Have  you  not  heard,”  said  Geburon,  “that  God  always  helps 
madmen,  lovers,  and  drunkards  ?  Perhaps  the  Tourangeau  was 
all  three,” 

“Do  you  mean  thence  to  infer,”  said  Parlamente,  “that  God 
does  nothing  for  the  chaste,  the  wise,  and  the  sober  ?  ” 

“  Those  who  can  help  themselves,”  replied  Geburon.  “have  no 
need  of  aid.  He  who  said  that  he  came  for  the  sick  and  not 
for  the  hale  came  by  the  law  of  his  mercy  to  aid  our  infirmities, 
and  cancelled  the  decrees  of  his  rigorous  justice  ;  and  he  win? 
thinks  himself  wise  is  a  fool  in  the  sight  of  God.  But  to  end 
the  sermon,  whom  do  you  call  upon,  Longarine  ?  ” 

“  On  Saffredent,”  she  said. 

“Then  I  will  prove  to  you  by  an  example.”  said  he  “that 
God  does  not  favour  lovers.  Though  it  has  been  alreadv  said, 
ladies,  that  vice  is  common  to  women  and  to  men,  yet  a  woman 
will  invent  a  cunning  artifice  more  promptly  and  more  adroitly 
than  a  man.  Here  is  an  example  of  the  fact.” 


NOVEL  XXXIX. 

Secret  for  driving  away  the  hobgoblin. 

LORD  of  Grignaux,  gentleman  of  honour  to  Anne 
Duchess  of  Brittany  and  Queen  of  France,  returning 
home  after  an  absence  of  more  than  two  years,  found 
his  wife  at  another  estate  he  had,  not  far  from  that 
in  which  he  usually  resided.  He  asked  the  reason  of  this,  and 
was  told  that  the  house  was  haunted  by  a  spirit,  which  made 
such  a  disturbance  that  no  one  could  live  in  it.  Monsieur  de 
Grignaux  who  was  not  a  man  to  give  credit  to  these  fancies, 
replied  that  11  ..  vas  the  devil  himself  he  should  not  fear  him, 
and  took  his  wife  home  with  him  to  their  usual  abode.  At  night 
he  had  plenty  of  torches  lighted,  the  better  to  see  this  spirit  ; 
but,  after  watching  a  w-ng  time  without  seeing  or  hearing  any¬ 
thing,  he  at  last  fell  asleep.  No  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  he 
was  awakened  by  a  sound  box  on  the  ears,  after  which  he  heard 
a  voice  crying,  “  Brenigne,  Brenigne,”  which  was  the  name  of 
his  deceased  grandmother  He  called  to  a  woman  who  slept  in 


238  The  Heptamreon  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

the  chamber  to  light  a  candle,  for  he  had  had  all  the  torches  put 
out,  but  she  durst  not  rise.  At  the  same  time,  Mtnsieur  de 
Grignaux  felt  his  bed-clothes  pulled  off,  and  heard  a  great  noise 
of  tables,  trestles,  and  stools  tumbled  about  the  room  with  a  din 
that  lasted  until  day.  But  he  never  believed  that  it  was  a  spirit ; 
he  was  not  so  frightened  as  vexed  at  losing  his  night’s  rest. 

On  the  following  night,  being  resolved  to  catch  Master  Goblin, 
he  had  no  sooner  lain  down  than  he  pretended  to  snore  with  all 
his  might,  keeping  his  open  hand  over  hts  face.  While  thus  await¬ 
ing  the  arrival  of  the  spirit,  he  heard  something  approach,  and 
began  to  snore  louder  than  ever.  The  spirit,  which  by  this 
time  had  become  familiar,  gave  him  a  great  thump,  whereupon 
Monsieur  de  Grignaux  seized  its  hand,  crying  out,  “Wife,  I 
have  caught  the  spirit.”  His  wife  rose  instantly,  lighted  a  candle, 
and  behold  you,  it  turned  out  that  the  spirit  was  the  girl  who  slep* 
in  their  chamber.  She  threw  herself  at  their  feet,  begging  to  be 
forgiven,  and  promised  to  tell  them  the  truth,  which  was,  that 
the  love  she  long  entertained  for  a  domestic  had  made  her 
play  this  trick  in  order  to  drive  the  master  and  mistress  out 
of  the  house,  and  that  they  two,  who  had  charge  of  it,  might 
make  good  cheer,  which  they  failed  not  to  do  when  they  were 
alone.  Monsieur  de  Grignaux,  who  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled 
with,  had  them  both  beaten  in  a  manner  they  never  forgot,  and 
then  turned  them  both  out  of  doors.  In  this  way  he  got  rid  of 
the  spirits  who  had  haunted  his  house  for  two  years. 

Love,  ladies,  works  wonders.  It  makes  women  lose  all  fear, 
and  torment  men  to  arrive  at  their  ends.  Condemning  the  wicked¬ 
ness  of  the  servant,  we  must  equally  applaud  the  good  sense  of 
the  master,  who  knew  that  the  departed  spirit  does  not  return. 

“  Decidedly,”  said  Geburon,  “  the  valet  and  the  wench  were 
not  then  favoured  by  love.  I  agree  with  you,  however,  that  the 
master  had  need  of  much  good  sense.” 

“  The  girl,  however,”  said  Ennasuite,  “lived  for  a  long  while 
to  her  heart’s  content  by  means  of  her  stratagem.” 

“That  is  a  very  wretched  content,”  said  Oisill^  /vnich  begins 
with  sin  and  ends  with  shame  and  punishment.” 

“That  is  true,”  rejoined  Ennasuite;  “but  there  are  many 
persons  who  suffer  whilst  living  righter*\sly,  and  whc  have  not 
the  wit  to  give  themselves  in  the  course  of  their  lives  as  much 
pleasure  as  the  pair  in  question.” 

“I  firmly  believe,”  replied  Oisille,  “that  there  is  no  perfect 
pleasure  unless  the  conscience  is  at  rest.” 


Novel  40.]  Fourth  Day .  239 

“The  Italian  maintains,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  the  greater 
the  sin  the  greater  the  pleasure.” 

“One  must  be  a  perfect  devil  to  entertain  such  a  thought,” 
said  Oisille  ;  “but  let  us  drop  the  subject,  and  see  to  whom 
Saffredent  will  give  his  voice.” 

“No  one  remains  to  speak  but  Parlamente,”  said  Saffredent; 
“but  though  there  were  a  hundred  others,  she  should  have  my 
voice,  as  a  person  from  whom  we  are  sure  to  learn  something.” 

“Since  I  am  to  finish  the  day,”  said  Parlamente,  “and  pro¬ 
mised  yesterday  to  tell  you  why  Rolandine’s  father  had  the  castle 
built  in  which  he  kept  her  so  long  a  prisoner,  I  will  now  fulfil 
my  word.” 


NOVEL  XL. 

The  Count  de  Jossebelin  has  his  brother-in-law  put  to  death,  not  knowing 

the  relationship. 

HE  Count  de  Jossebelin,  father  of  Rolandine,  had  several 
sisters.  Some  made  wealthy  marriages,  others  became 
nuns,  and  one,  who  was  incomparably  handsomer  than 
the  rest,  remained  in  his  house  unmarried.  The  brother 
was  so  fond  of  this  sister  that  he  preferred  neither  his  wife  nor 
his  children  to  her  ;  and  though  she  had  many  eligible  offers  of 
marriage,  they  were  all  rejected,  from  his  fear  of  losing  her,  and 
being  obliged  to  pay  down  money.  Consequently  she  remained 
a  great  part  of  her  life  unmarried,  living  with  strict  propriety  in 
her  brother’s  house.  There  was  a  young  and  handsome  gentle¬ 
man  who  had  been  reared  in  the  house,  and  who  as  he  grew  in 
age  grew  also  in  personal  and  mental  endowments,  to  that  degree 
that  he  completely  governed  his  master.  When  the  latter  had 
any  message  to  send  his  sister,  he  always  made  this  young  gentle¬ 
man  the  bearer  of  it ;  and  as  this  took  place  morning  and  evening, 
it  led  to  such  a  familiarity  as  presently  ripened  into  love.  The 
young  gentleman  durst  not  for  his  life  offend  his  master ;  the 
demoiselle  was  not  without  scruples  of  honour  ;  and  so  they  had 
no  other  fruition  of  their  love  than  in  conversing  together,  until 
the  brother  had  said  again  and  again  to  the  lover  that  he  wished 
he  was  of  as  good  family  as  his  sister,  for  he  had  never  seen 
a  man  he  would  rather  have  for  a  brother-in-law.  This  was 
repeated  so  often  that  after  consulting  together,  the  lovers  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  if  they  married  secretly  they  should  easily 
be  forgiven.  Love,  which  makes  people  readily  believe  what  they 
desire,  persuaded  them  that  no  bad  consequences  would  ensue 


#40  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

for  them  ;  and  with  that  hope  they  married,  unknown  to  anyone 
except  a  priest  and  some  women. 

After  having  for  some  years  enjoyed  the  pleasure  which  two 
handsome  persons  who  passionately  love  each  other  can  recipro¬ 
cally  bestow,  fortune,  jealous  of  their  happiness,  roused  up  an 
enemy  against  them,  who,  observing  the  demoiselle,  became  aware 
of  her  secret  delights,  being  yet  ignorant  of  her  marriage.  This 
person  went  and  told  the  brother  that  the  gentleman  in  whom  he 
had  such  confidence  visited  his  sister  too  often,  and  at  hours  when 
a  man  ought  never  to  enter  her  chamber.  At  first  he  could  not 
believe  this,  such  was  his  trust  in  his  sister  and  the  gentleman. 
But,  as  he  loved  his  house’s  honour,  he  caused  them  to  be  observed 
so  closely,  and  set  so  many  people  on  the  watch,  that  the  poor 
innocent  couple  were  at  last  surprised. 

One  evening,  word  being  brought  the  brother  that  the  gentle¬ 
man  was  with  his  sister,  he  went  straightway  to  her  chamber,  and 
found  them  in  bed  together.  Choking  with  rage  and  unable  to 
speak,  he  drew  his  sword,  and  ran  after  the  gentleman  to  kill  him  ; 
but  the  latter,  being  very  nimble,  evaded  him  ;  and,  as  he  could 
not  escape  by  the  door,  he  jumped  out  of  a  window  that  looked 
upon  the  garden.  The  poor  lady  threw  herself  in  her  shift  on 
her  knees  before  her  brother,  crying,  “Spare  my  husband’s  life, 
monsieur,  for  I  have  married  him,  and  if  he  has  offended  you» 
let  me  alone  suffer  the  punishment,  for  he  has  done  nothing  but 
at  my  solicitation.” 

“  Were  he  a  thousand  times  your  husband,”  replied  the  incensed 
brother,  “  I  will  punish  him  as  a  domestic  who  has  deceived 
me.”  So  saying,  he  went  to  the  window,  and  called  out  to  his 
people  to  kill  him,  which  was  forthwith  done  before  his  eyes  and 
those  of  his  sister. 

At  this  sad  spectacle,  which  her  prayers  and  supplications  had 
been  unable  to  prevent,  the  poor  wife  was  like  one  distracted. 
“  Brother,”  she  said,  “  I  have  neither  father  nor  mother,  and  I 
am  of  an  age  to  marry  as  I  choose.  I  chose  a  man  whom  you  told 
me  repeatedly  that  you  would  have  liked  me  to  marry.  And 
because  I  did  so,  as  by  law  I  had  a  right  to  do  without  your 
interference,  you  put  to  death  the  man  you  loved  best  in  the  world. 
Since  my  prayers  have  not  availed  to  save  him,  I  conjure  you  by 
all  the  affection  you  ever  had  tor  me  to  make  me  the  companion 
of  his  death,  as  1  have  been  of  all  his  fortunes.  Thereby  you  will 
glut  your  cruel  and  unjust  wrath,  and  give  repose  to  the  body 
and  soul  of  a  wife  who  will  not  and  cannot  live  without  her 
husband.” 


TROISIEME  JOURNEE 

Nouvelle  24 


Novel  40.]  Fouith  Day.  241 

Though  the  brother  was  beside  himself  with  passion,  he  had  so 
much  pity  on  his  sister  that,  without  saying  yes  or  no,  ht  left 
her  and  withdrew.  After  having  carefully  investigated  the  matter, 
and  ascertained  that  the  murdered  man  had  been  wedded  to  his 
sister,  he  would  have  been  glad  if  the  deed  had  not  been  done. 
Being  afraid,  however,  that  his  sister,  to  revenge  it,  would  appeal  to 
justice,  he  had  a  castle  built  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  and  there  he 
confined  her,  with  orders  that  no  one  should  be  admitted  to  speak 
to  her. 

Some  time  after,  to  satisfy  his  conscience,  he  tried  to  conciliate 
her,  and  caused  her  to  be  sounded  upon  the  subject  of  marriage  ; 
but  she  sent  him  word  that  he  had  given  her  such  a  bad  dinnei 
she  had  no  mind  to  be  regaled  with  the  same  dish  for  supper; 
that  she  hoped  to  live  in  such  wise  that  he  should  never  have  the 
pleasure  of  killing  a  second  husband  of  hers  ;  and  that  after 
dealing  so  villanously  with  the  man  he  loved  best  in  the  world, 
she  could  not  imagine  that  he  would  pardon  another.*  She  added, 
that  notwithstanding  her  weakness  and  impotence,  she  trusted 
that  He  who  was  a  just  judge,  and  would  not  suffer  wrong  to  go 
unpunished,  would  do  her  the  grace  to  avenge  her,  and  let  her 
finish  her  days  in  her  hermitage  in  meditating  on  the  love  and 
charity  of  her  God.  And  this  she  did.  She  lived  in  that  place 
with  so  much  patience  and  austerity  that  after  her  death  every 
one  visited  her  remains  as  those  of  a  saint.  From  the  moment  of 
her  death  her  brother’s  house  began  to  fall  into  decay,  so  that 
of  six  sons  not  one  remained  to  continue  it.  They  all  died 
miserably  ;  and  in  the  end  Rolandine,  his  daughter,  remained 
sole  heiress  of  all,  as  you  have  been  told  in  another  tale,  and  suc¬ 
ceeded  to  her  aunt’s  prison.* 

I  wish,  ladies,  that  you  may  profit  by  this  example,  and  that 
none  of  you  may  think  of  marrying  for  your  own  pleasure,  with¬ 
out  the  consent  of  those  to  whom  you  owe  obedience.  Marriage  is 
an  affair  of  such  long  duration  that  one  cannot  engage  in  it  with 

*  Josselin,  a  little  town  of  LeMorbihan,  was  included  in  the  domains  of  the 
Viscount  of  Rohan,  whose  name  the  Queen  of  Navarre  disguises  by  calling 
him  Count  of  Jossebelhi.  Jean  II.,  Viscount  of  Rohan,  had  one  uterine  sister, 
named  Catherine,  and  several  half  sisters.  Catherine  de  Rohan,  who  is  said 
by  the  authors  of  Histoire  Gtnealogique  de  la  Matson  de  France,  iv.  57,  to 
have  died  unmarried,  is  the  heroine  of  this  novel,  and  the  murder  of  the  Count  of 
Reradreux,  for  which  the  Viscount  of  Rohan  was  imprisoned,  is  no  doubt 
the  one  of  which  the  Queen  of  Navarre  speaks. 


a 


242  The  Heptamcron  of  the  Queen  of  JSlavarre. 

too  much  deliberation  ;  and  deliberate  ever  so  well  and  so  sagely, 
yet  cne  is  sure  to  find  in  it  at  least  as  much  pain  as  pleasure. 

“  Were  there  no  God  or  law  to  teach  maidens  discretion,” 
said  Oisille,  “the  example  might  suffice  to  make  them  have 
more  respect  for  their  relations  than  to  marry  without  their 
knowledge.” 

“  Nevertheless,  madam, ”  replied  Nomerfide,  “  when  one  has 
one  good  day  in  the  year,  one  is  not  wholly  unfortunate.  She 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  and  conversing  for  a  long  time  with 
him  whom  she  loved  better  than  herself.  Besides,  she  enjoyed  it 
through  marriage  without  scruple  of  conscience.  I  regard  this 
satisfaction  as  so  great  that,  to  my  thinking,  it  fairly  counter¬ 
balanced  the  grief  that  subsequently  befel  her.” 

“  You  mean  to  say,  then,”  said  Saffredent,  “that  the  pleasure 
of  bedding  with  a  husband  is  more  to  a  woman  than  the  pain  of 
seeing  him  killed  before  her  eyes.” 

“  No  such  thing,”  said  Nomerfide  ;  were  I  to  say  so,  I  should 
speak  contrary  to  my  own  experience  of  women.  What  I  mean 
is,  that  an  unaccustomed  pleasure  like  that  of  marrying  the  man 
one  loves  best  must  be  greater  than  the  pain  of  losing  him  by 
death,  which  is  an  ordinary  occurrence.” 

“That  maybe  true  of  natural  death,”  said  Geburon,  “but  the 
o  e  in  question  was  too  cruel.  I  think  it  very  strange  that  this 
lord,  who  was  neither  her  father  nor  her  husband,  but  only  her 
brother,  should  have  dared  to  commit  such  a  cruel  deed,  seeing 
even  that  his  sister  was  of  an  age  at  which  the  law  allows  girls 
to  marry  as  they  think  fit.” 

“  For  my  part,  1  see  nothing  strange  in  that,”  said  Hircan. 
“  He  did  not  kill  his  sister,  whom  he  loved  so  fondly,  and  over 
whom  he  had  no  jurisdiction  ;  but  he  dealt  as  he  deserved  with 
the  young  gentleman,  whom  he  had  brought  up  as  his  son,  and 
loved  as  his  brother.  He  had  advanced  and  enriched  him  in  his 
service,  and  then,  by  way  of  gratitude,  the  young  gentleman 
married  his  sister,  which  he  ought  not  to  have  done.” 

“Again,”  resumed  Nomerfide,  “  it  was  no  common  and  ordi¬ 
nary  pleasure  for  a  lady  of  such  high  family  to  marry  a  gentleman 
domestic.  Thus,  if  the  death  was  a  surprise,  the  pleasure  also 
was  novel,  and  the  greater  as  it  was  contrary  to  the  opinion  of 
all  the  Adse,  and  was  helped  by  the  satisfaction  of  a  heart  filled 
with  love,  and  by  repose  of  soul,  seeing  that  God  was  not  offended. 
As  to  the  death  you  call  cruel,  it  seems  to  me  that  death  being 
necessary,  the  quicker  it  is  the  better  ;  for  do  we  not  know  that 
death  is  a  passage  which  must  inevitably  be  crossed  ?  I  regard 


Novel  40.]  Fourth  Day.  *43 

as  fortunate  those  who  do  not  linger  long  in  the  outskirts  of 
death,  and  who  by  good  luck,  which  alone  deserves  th^t  name, 
pass  at  one  bound  into  everlasting  felicity.” 

What  do  you  call  the  outskirts  of  death  ?  ”  said  Simontault. 

“Sorrows,  afflictions,  long  maladies,”  replied  Nomerfide. 
“Those  who  have  to  sustain  such  extreme  pangs  of  body  or 
of  mind  that  they  come  to  despise  death  and  complain  of  its  too 
tardy  approach  are  in  the  outskirts  of  death,  and  they  will  tell 
you  how  the  inns  are  named  in  which  they  have  sighed  more 
than  reposed.  The  lady  in  question  could  not  help  losing  her 
husband  by  death  ;  but  her  brother’s  anger  saved  her  from  the 
pain  of  seeing  him  for  a  long  time  an  invalid  or  ill-tempered,  and 
she  could  deem  herself  happy  in  converting  to  the  service  of  God 
the  satisfaction  and  joy  she  had  with  her  husband.” 

“  Do  you  count  for  nothing  the  shame  she  underwent  and  the 
tedium  of  her  prison  ?”  said  Longarine. 

“I  am  persuaded,”  replied  Nomerfide,  “  that  when  one  loves 
well,  and  with  a  love  founded  on  God's  command,  one  makes 
no  account  of  shame,  except  so  far  as  it  lessens  love  ;  for  the 
glory  of  loving  well  knows  no  shame.  As  for  her  prison,  as  her 
heart  was  wholly  devoted  to  God  and  her  husband,  1  tmagine 
she  hardly  felt  the  loss  of  her  liberty  ;  for  where  one  cannot  see 
what  one  loves,  the  greatest  blessing  one  can  have  is  to  think  of 
it  incessantly.  A  prison  is  never  narrow  when  the  imagination 
can  range  in  it  as  it  will.” 

“Nothing  can  be  truer  than  what  Nomerfide  alleges,”  said 
Simontault ;  but  the  madman  who  effected  this  separation 
ought  to  have  deemed  himself  a  very  wretch,  offending  as  he  did 
God,  love,  and  honour.” 

“  I  am  astonished,”  said  Geburon,  that  there  is  so  much 
diversity  in  the  nature  of  women’s  love  ;  and  I  see  plainly  that 
those  who  have  the  most  love  have  the  most  virtue,  but  those  who 
have  the  least  love  are  the  virtuous  in  false  seeming.” 

“  It  is  true,”  said  Parlamente,  ‘‘that  a  heart  that  is  virtuous 
towards  God  and  man  loves  with  more  passion  than  a  vicious 
heart,  because  the  former  is  not  afraid  that  the  real  nature  of  its 
sentiments  should  be  apparent.” 

I  have  always  understood,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  men  are 
not  blameable  for  paying  court  to  women  ;  for  God  has  put  into 
the  heart  of  man  love  and  the  boldness  to  sue,  and  into  that  of 
woman  fear  and  the  chastity  to  refuse.  If  a  man  has  been 
punished  for  having  used  the  power  implanted  in  him,  he  has 
been  treated  with  injustice.” 


244 


7  he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

“  But  was  it  not  a  monstrous  inconsistency  in  this  brother,”  said 
Longarine,  ‘‘  to  have  persisted  so  long  in  praising  this  young 
gentleman  to  his  sister  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  a  great 
folly,  not  to  say  cruelty,  in  a  man  who  had  charge  of  a  fountain 
to  praise  its  water  to  one  who  gazed  on  it,  parched  with  thirst, 
and  then  to  kill  him  for  offering  to  drink  of  it.” 

‘‘  The  fire  of  his  encomiums  on  the  young  man,”  said  Parla- 
mente,  “  unquestionably  kindled  the  fire  of  love  in  the  lady’s 
heart,  and  he  was  wrong  to  put  out  with  his  sword  a  fire  he 
himself  had  lighted  by  his  sweet  words.” 

‘‘  I  am  surprised,”  said  Saffredent,  “that  it  should  be  taken 
amiss  that  a  simple  gentleman,  by  dint  of  courtship  alone,  and 
not  through  any  false  pretences,  should  come  to  marry  a  lady  of 
so  illustrious  a  house,  since  the  philosophers  maintain  that  the 
least  of  men  is  worthier  than  the  greatest  and  most  virtuous  of 
women.” 

“The  reason  is,”  said  Dagoucin,  ‘‘that  in  order  to  preserve  the 
public  tranquillity,  regard  is  only  had  to  the  degree  of  the  fami¬ 
lies,  the  age  of  the  persons,  and  the  laws,  men’s  love  and  virtue 
being  counted  as  nothing,  in  order  not  to  confound  the  monarchy. 
Thence  it  comes  that  in  the  marriages  which  take  place  between 
equals,  and  in  accordance  with  the  judgment  of  men  and  of  the 
relations,  the  persons  are  often  so  different  in  heart,  temperament, 
and  disposition,  that  instead  of  entering  into  an  engagement 
which  leads  to  salvation,  they  throw  themselves  into  the  confines 
of  hell.” 

“  Instances  have  also  been  seen,”  said  Geburon,  ‘‘of  persons 
who  have  married  for  love,  with  hearts,  dispositions  and  tempera¬ 
ments  mutually  conformable,  without  concerning  themselves 
about  difference  of  birth,  and  who  have,  nevertheless,  repented  of 
what  they  have  done.  In  fact,  a  great  but  indiscreet  love  often 
changes  into  jealousy  and  fliry.” 

‘‘To  me  it  seems,”  said  Parlamente,  “that  neither  the  one 
course  nor  the  other  is  commendable,  and  that  those  persons  who 
submit  to  the  will  of  God  regard  neither  glory,  nor  avarice,  nor 
voluptuousness.  They  alone  are  to  be  commended,  who,  actuated 
by  virtuous  love,  sanctioned  by  the  consent  of  their  relations, 
desire  to  live  in  the  married  state  as  God  and  nature  ordain. 
Though  there  is  no  condition  without  its  troubles,  I  have  yet 
seen  these  latter  run  their  course  without  repenting  that  they  had 
entered  upon  it.  The  present  company  is  not  so  unhappy  as  not 
to  number  in  it  married  persons  of  this  class.” 

Thereupon  Hircan,  Geburon,  Simontault,  and  Saffredent  vowed 


Novel  40. j  Fourth  Day.  245 

that  they  had  all  married  in  that  very  spirit,  and  that  accordingly 
they  had  never  repented  of  the  act.  Whether  that  was  true  or 
not,  the  ladies  whom  it  concerned  were  nevertheless  so  pleased 
with  the  declaration,  that,  being  of  opinion  they  could  hear  nothing 
better  than  it,  they  rose  to  go  and  give  thanks  for  it  to  God,  and 
found  that  the  monks  were  ready  for  the  vesper  service.  Their 
devotions  ended,  they  supped,  but  not  without  reverting  to  the 
subject  of  marriage,  everyone  recounting  his  own  experience 
whilst  wooing  his  wife.  But  as  they  interrupted  each  other,  it 
was  not  possible  to  make  a  full  record  of  their  several  stories, 
which  was  a  pity,  for  they  were  not  less  agreeable  than  those 
they  had  recounted  in  the  meadow. 

This  conversation  was  so  interesting  that  bed-time  arrived  be¬ 
fore  they  were  aware  of  it.  Madame  Oisille  was  the  first  to  per¬ 
ceive  that  it  was  time  to  retire,  and  her  example  was  followed  by 
the  rest.  All  went  to  bed  in  the  gayest  humour,  and  I  do  not 
think  the  married  couples  slept  more  than  the  others,  but  spent  a 
part  of  the  night  in  talking  over  their  affections  in  times  past, 
and  giving  each  other  evidences  of  its  present  existence.  Thai 
ibe  night  passed  agreeably  away. 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarrt. 


FIFTH  DAY. 

ADAME  OISILLE,  as  soon  as  day  had  dawned,  pre¬ 
pared  for  them  a  spiritual  breakfast  of  such  good  sa¬ 
vour,  that  it  fortified  their  minds  and  bodies  alike  ;  and 
the  company  were  so  attentive  to  it,  that  it  seemed 
that  they  never  heard  a  sermon  to  more  advantage.  The  second 
bell  for  mass  having  rung,  they  went  to  meditate  on  the  good 
things  they  had  heard.  After  mass  they  took  a  little  walk  while 
waiting  for  dinner,  anticipating  as  agreeable  a  day  as  the  pre¬ 
ceding  one.  Saffredent  said  that  he  was  so  charmed  with  the 
good  cheer  they  made  and  the  recreation  they  enjoyed,  that  he 
could  wish  it  might  be  a  month  yet  before  the  bridge  was  finished  ; 
but  as  it  was  no  comfort  to  the  abbot  to  live  along  with  so  many 
respectable  people  into  whose  presence  he  durst  not  bring  h*s 
usual  female  pilgrims,  he  urged  the  workmen  to  make  all  possible 
speed.  When  the  company  had  rested  awhile  after  dinner,  they 
returned  to  their  usual  pastime,  and  everyone  being  seated,  they 
asked  Parlamente  who  should  begin.  “  It  strikes  me,”  she  said, 
“  that  Saffredent  would  do  very  well,  for  his  face  does  not  seem 
to  me  adapted  to  make  us  cry.” 

"Nay,  ladies,  you  will  be  very  cruel,”  he  replied,  "  if  you 
bestow  no  pity  upon  a  Cordelier  whose  story  I  am  going  to 
relate  to  you.  You  will  say,  perhaps,  as  has  been  already 
remarked  of  other  incidents  of  this  kind,  that  they  are  things 
which  have  happened  to  ladies,  and  would  not  have  been  at¬ 
tempted  but  for  the  facility  of  their  execution  ;  but  that  is  not 
the  case  :  on  the  contrary,  you  shall  see  from  the  example  I  am 
about  to  adduce,  that  the  Cordeliers  art  so  blind  in  their  lust, 
that  they  know  neither  fear  nor  prudence.” 


NOVEL  XLI. 

Strange"and  novel  penance  imposed  by  a  cordelier  confessor  on  a  young  lady. 

HEN  Margaret  of  Austria  came  to  Cambrai  on  the 
the  part  of  the  emperor  her  nephew  to  negotiate  the 
peace  between  him  and  the  Most  Christian  King,  who 
sent  on  his  part  Louise  of  Savoy  his  mother,  there  was 
inthe  suite  of  Margaret  of  Austria  the  Countess  of  Aiguemont, 


247 


Novel  41.]  Fifth  Day. 

who  passed  in  that  assembly  for  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Flemish 
fadies.  After  the  conference  the  Countess  of  Aiguemont  re¬ 
turned  home,  andt  he  season  of  Advent  being  come,  she  sent 
to  a  monastery  of  Cordeliers,  requiring  a  preacher,  a  good  man, 
fit  to  preach  to  and  confess  the  countess  and  her  household.  The 
warden,  who  received  great  benefits  from  the  house  of  Aiguemont, 
and  from  that  of  Fiennes,  to  which  the  countess  belonged,  sent 
the  best  preacher  in  the  society,  and  the  one  who  was  regarded 
as  the  most  upright  man.  He  performed  his  duty  very  well  in 
preaching  the  Advent  sermons,  and  the  countess  was  perfectly 
satisfied  with  him. 

On  Christmas  night,  when  the  countess  intended  to  receive 
her  Creator,  she  sent  for  her  confessor,  and  after  having  well  and 
duly  confessed  in  a  chapel  carefully  closed  that  the  confession 
might  be  more  secret,  she  gave  place  to  her  lady  of  honour,  who, 
having  made  her  confession,  next  sent  her  daughter.  After  the 
young  penitent  had  told  all  she  knew,  the  good  confessor  knew 
something  of  her  secrets,  which  prompted  him  to  impose  upon 
her  an  extraordinary  penance,  and  he  was  bold  enough  to  say  to 
her,  “  Your  sins,  my  daughter,  are  so  great,  that  I  order  you,  for 
nenance,  to  wear  my  cord  on  your  bare  flesh.” 

The  demoiselle,  who  had  no  wish  to  disobey  him,  replied, 
“  Give  it  me,  father,  and  I  will  not  fail  to  wear  it.” 

“  No,  daughter,”  replied  the  holy  man.  it  would  not  be  meet  for 
you  to  fasten  it  on.  That  must  be  done  by  these  very  hands 
from  which  you  are  to  receive  absolution,  and  afterwards  you  will 
be  absolved  from  all  your  sins.” 

The  demoiselle  began  to  cry,  and  said  she  would  do  no  such 
thing.  “What!”  exclaimed  the  confessor,  “ are  you  a  heretic, 
to  refuse  the  penances  which  God  and  our  holy  Mother  Church 
have  ordained  ?  ” 

“  I  make  of  confession  the  use  which  the  Church  has  com¬ 
manded,”  replied  the  demoisille.  “  I  am  quite  willing  to  receive 
absolution  and  to  do  penance  ;  but  I  will  not  have  you  put  your 
hands  to  it ;  for  in  that  case.  I  refuse  to  submit  to  your  penance.” 

"That  being  the  case,”  said  the  confessor,  "  I  cannot  give  you 
absolution.” 

The  demoisille  withdrew,  sorely  troubled  in  conscience,  for 
she  was  so  young  that  she  was  afraid  she  had  transgressed  by 
the  refusal  she  had  given  to  the  reverend  father.  After  mass 
was  over,  and  the  Countess  of  Aiguemont  had  taken  the  commu¬ 
nion,  her  lady  of  honour,  intending  to  do  the  same,  asked  her 
daughter  if  she  was  ready.  The  girl  replied,  with  tears,  that  she 


248  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre 

had  not  yet  confessed.  “  Then,  what  have  you  been  doing  so 
long  with  the  preacher  ?  ”  inquired  her  mother. 

“  Nothing,”  replied  the  daughter  ;  "  for  as  I  would  not  submit 
to  the  penance  he  ordered  me,  he  would  not  grant  me  absolu¬ 
tion.” 

Thereupon  the  mother  questioned  her  so  shrewdly,  that  she 
learned  the  nature  of  the  extraordinary  penance  which  the  monk 
wished  to  impose  upon  her  daughter.  She  made  her  confess  to 
another,  and  afterwards  they  both  communicated. 

As  soon  as  the  countess  returned  from  church,  the  lady  of 
honour  complained  to  her  of  the  preacher,  to  the  countess’s  great 
surprise,  for  she  had  a  very  good  opinion  of  him.  All  her  anger, 
however,  did  not  hinder  her  from  laughing  at  the  oddity  of  the 
penance  ;  but  neither  did  her  laughter  hinder  her  from  having 
the  good  father  chastised.  He  was  handsomely  thrashed  in  the 
kitchen,  and  so  compelled,  by  dint  of  blows,  to  confess  the  truth  ; 
after  which,  he  was  sent  away,  bound  hand  and  foot,  to  his 
warden,  with  a  request  that  another  time  he  would  commission 
better  men  to  preach  the  word  of  God. 

Consider,  ladies,  if  the  monks  do  not  scruple  to  display  their 
wickedness  in  so  illustrious  a  house,  what  are  they  not  capable 
of  doing  in  the  poor  places  to  which  they  commonly  go  to  make 
their  gatherings,  and  where  they  have  such  full  opportunities  that 
it  is  a  miracle  if  they  quit  them  without  scandal  ?  This  obliges 
me  to  entreat,  ladies,  that  you  will  change  your  scorn  into  com¬ 
passion,  and  consider  that  the  power  which  can  blind  thev 
Cordeliers  does  no*  spare  the  ladies,  when  he  finds  them  a  fair 
mark  for  his  shafts. 

“Assuredly,  this  was  a  wicked  Cordelier,”  said  Oisille.  “A 
monk,  a  priest,  and  a  preacher,  to  be  guilty,  on  Christmas- day, 
of  such  an  infamy,  and  that  in  the  house  of  God,  and  under  the 
sacred  veil  of  confession  1  This  was  carrying  impiety  and  villany 
to  the  very  climax.” 

“  Why,”  said  Hircan,  “  to  hear  you  talk,  one  would  think  the 
Cordeliers  should  be  angels,  or  more  chaste  than  other  men  ; 
but  they  are  quite  the  reverse,  as  you  must  know  from  many  an 
example.  As  for  this  one,  it  appears  to  me  that  he  was  very 
excusable,  finding  himself,  as  he  did.  shut  up  alone  with  a 
handsome  girl.” 

“Nay,”  said  Oisille,  “but  it  was  Christmas  night.” 

“  The  very  thing  that  makes  him  the  more  excusable,”  said 
Simontault,  “for  being  in  Joseph’s  place,  beside  a  beautiful 


Novel  41.]  Fifth  Day.  249 

virgin,  he  had  a  mind  to  try  and  beget  a  baby,  in  order  to  play 
the  mystery  of  the  Nativity  to  the  life.” 

“Truly,”  said  Parlamente,  “if  he  had  ihought  of  Joseph  and 
the  Virgin  Mary,  he  would  not  have  harboured  such  a  wicked 
purpose.  At  any  rate,  he  was  an  audac  ious  villain  to  make  such 
a  criminal  attempt  upon  no  encouragement.” 

“The  manner  in  which  the  countess  had  him  castigated,” 
said  Oisille,”  might  serve,  methinks,  as  a  warning  to  others  like 
him.” 

“I  do  not  know  if  she  did  well,”  said  Nortnefide,  “  thus  to 
scandalise  her  neighbour,  and  if  it  would  not  have  been  better 
to  remonstrate  with  him  on  his  fault  in  private  and  gently,  than 
thus  to  divulge  it.” 

“That  I  think  would  have  been  better,”  said  Geburon,  “for 
we  are  commanded  to  reprove  our  neighbour  in  secret,  before  we 
speak  of  his  offence,  not  only  to  the  Church,  but  to  any  person 
whatever.  When  a  man  is  deprived  of  all  motives  on  the  side 
of  honour,  it  is  very  hard  for  him  to  reform  ;  and  the  reason  is, 
that  shame  keeps  as  many  from  sin  as  does  conscience.” 

“  I  think,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  every  one  should  practise 
the  precepts  of  the  Gospel,  and  it  is  very  scandalous  that  those 
who  preach  them  should  do  the  reverse  ;  therefore,  we  need  have 
no  fear  of  scandalising  those  who  scandalise  others.  On  the 
contrary,  it  appears  to  me  meritorious  to  make  them  known  tor 
what  they  are, -so  that  we  may  be  on  our  guard  against  their 
wiles  with  regard  to  the  fair  sex,  who  are  not  always  wary  and 
prudent.  But  to  whom  does  Hircan  give  his  voice  ?” 

Since  you  ask  me,”  he  replied,  “  I  give  it  to  you,  to  whom 
no  sensible  man  could  refuse  it.” 

“  Well,  then,”  rejoined  Parlamente,  “  I  will  tell  you  a  story  to 
which  I  can  testify  of  my  own  knowledge.  I  have  always  heard 
that  the  weaker  the  vessel  in  which  virtue  abides,  and  the  more 
violently  it  is  assaulted  by  a  powerful  and  formidable  antagonist, 
the  more  worthy  is  it  of  praise,  and  the  more  conspicuously  is  its 
nature  displayed.  That  the  strong  defends  himself  against  the 
strong  is  no  matter  for  wonder  ;  but  to  see  the  weak  beat  the 
strong  is  a  thing  to  be  extolled  by  all  the  world.  Knowing  the 
persons  of  whom  I  mean  to  speak,  methinks  it  would  be  wronging 
the  truth  I  have  seen  hid  under  so  mean  a  garb  that  no  one  made 
any  account  of  it,  if  I  did  no*  speak  of  her  by  whom  were  done 
the  honourable  actions  of  which  I  am  about  to  tell  you.” 


**5°  Tht  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

NOVEL  XLII. 

Chaste  perseverance  of  a  maiden,  who  resisted  the  obstinate  pursuit  of  one  of 
the  greatest  lords  in  France — agreeable  issue  of  the  affair  for  the  demoiselle. 

HERE  once  lived  in  one  of  the  best  towns  of  Touraine 
a  lord  of  great  and  illustrious  family,  who  had  been 
brought  up  from  his  youth  in  the  province.  All  I  need 
say  of  the  perfections,  beauty,  grace,  and  great  qualities 
of  this  young  prince  is,  that  in  his  time  he  never  had  his  equal. 
At  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  took  more  pleasure  in  hunting  and  hawk¬ 
ing  than  in  beholding  fair  ladies.  Being  one  day  in  a  church,  he 
cast  his  eyes  on  a  young  girl  who,  during  her  childhood,  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  chateau  in  which  he  resided.  After  the  death 
of  her  mother,  her  father  had  withdrawn  thence,  and  gone  to 
reside  with  his  brother  in  Poitou.  This  daughter  of  his,  whose 
name  was  Francoise,  had  a  bastard  sister,  whom  her  father  was 
very  fond  of,  and  had  married  to  this  young  prince’s  butler,  who 
maintained  her  on  as  handsome  a  footing  as  any  of  her  family. 
The  father  died,  and  left  to  Francoise  for  her  portion  all  he 
possessed  about  the  good  town  in  question,  whither  she  went  to 
reside  after  his  death  ;  but  as  she  was  unmarried  and  only  sixteen, 
she  would  not  keep  house,  but  went  to  board  with  her  sister. 

The  young  prince  was  much  struck  with  this  girl,  who  was 
very  handsome  for  a  light  brunette,  and  of  a  grace  beyond  her 
rank  ;  for  she  had  the  air  of  a  young  lady  of  quality,  or  of  a  prin¬ 
cess,  rather  than  of  a  bourgeoise.  He  gazed  upon  her  for  a  long 
while  ;  and  as  he  had  never  loved,  he  felt  in  his  heart  a  pleasure 
that  was  new  to  him.  On  returning  to  his  chamber,  he  made  in¬ 
quiries  about  the  girl  he  had  seen  at  church,  and  recollected  that 
formerly,  when  she  was  veiy  young,  she  used  often  to  play  in  the 
chateau  with  his  sister,  whom  he  put  in  mind  of  her.  His 
sister  sent  for  her,  gave  her  a  very  good  reception,  and  begged 
her  to  come  often  to  see  her,  which  she  did  whenever  there  was 
any  entertainment  or  assembly.  The  young  prince  was  very 
glad  to  see  her,  and  so  glad  that  he  chose  to  be  deeply  in  love 
with  her.  Knowing  that  she  was  of  low  birth,  he  thought  he 
should  easily  obtain  of  her  what  he  sought ;  and,  as  he  had  no 
opportunity  to  speak  with  her,  he  sent  a  gentleman  of  his 
chamber  to  her,  with  orders  to  acquaint  her  with  his  intentions, 
and  settle  matters  with  her.  The  girl,  who  was  good  and  pious, 
replied  that  she  did  not  believe  that  so  handsome  a  prince  as  his 
master  would  care  to  look  upon  a  plain  girl  like  herself,  especially 


Novel  42.]  Fifth  Day.  251 

as  there  were  such  handsome  ones  in  the  chateau  that  he  had  no 
need  to  look  elsewhere  ;  and  that  she  doubted  not  he  had  said  ail 
this  to  her  out  of  his  own  head  and  without  orders  from  his 

master. 

As  obstacles  make  desire  more  violent,  the  prince  now  became 
more  hotly  intent  on  his  purpose  than  ever,  and  wrote  to  her, 
begging  her  to  believe  everything  the  gentleman  should  say  to 
her  on  his  part  She  coulci  read  and  write  very  well,  and  sh<- 
read  the  letter  from  beginning  to  end  ;  but  for  no  entreaties  the 
gentleman  could  make  would  she  ever  reply  to  it,  saying  that  a 
person  of  her  humble  birth  should  never  take  the  liberty  to  wrbe 
to  so  great  a  prince  ;  but  that  she  begged  he  would  not  take  her 
for  such  a  fool  as  to  imagine  that  he  esteemed  her  enough  to  love 
her  as  much  as  he  said.  Moreover,  he  was  mistaken  if  he  fan<  ied 
that  because  she  was  of  obscure  birih,  he  might  do  as  he  phased 
with  her,  and  that  to  convince  him  of  the  contrary,  she  felt 
obliged  to  declare  to  him  that,  bourgeoise  as  she  was,  there  was 
no  princess  whose  heart  was  more  upright  than  hers.  There 
were  no  treasures  in  the  world  she  esteemed  so  much  as  honour 
and  conscience.  And  the  only  favour  she  begged  of  him  was, 
that  he  would  not  hinder  her  from  preserving  that  treasure  all 
h^r  life  long,  and  that  he  might  take  it  for  certain  that  she  would 
never  change  her  mind  though  it  were  to  cost  her  her  life. 

The  young  prince  did  not  find  this  answer  to  his  liking. 
Nevertheless,  he  loved  her  but  the  more  for  it,  and  failed  not  to 
lay  siege  to  her  when  she  went  to  mass  ;  and  during  the  whole 
service  he  had  no  eyes  but  to  gaze  on  that  image  to  which  he 
addressed  his  devotions.  But  when  she  perceived  this,  she 
changed  her  place  and  went  to  another  chapel,  not  that  she  dis¬ 
liked  to  see  him,  for  she  would  not  have  been  a  reasonable 
creature  if  she  had  not  taken  pleasure  in  looking  on  him  ;  but  she 
w^s  afraid  of  being  seen  by  him,  not  thinking  highly  enough  of 
herself  to  deserve  be  ng  loved  with  a  view  to  marriage,  and  being 
too  high-minded  to  be  able  to  accommodate  herself  to  a  dis¬ 
honourable  love.  When  she  saw  that  in  whatever  part  of  the 
church  she  placed  herself,  the  prince  had  mass  said  quite  near  it, 
she  went  no  more  to  that  church,  but  to  the  most  distant  one  she 
could  find.  Moreover,  when  the  prince’s  sister  often  sent  for  her, 
she  always  excused  herself  on  the  plea  of  indisposition. 

The  prince,  seeing  he  could  not  have  access  to  her,  had  re¬ 
course  to  his  butler,  and  promised  him  a  large  reward  if  he 
served  him  in  this  affair.  The  butler,  both  to  please  his  master 
and  for  the  hope  of  lucre,  promised  to  do  so  cheerfully.  He 


252  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

made  it  a  practice  to  relate  daily  to  the  prince  all  she  said  anO 
did,  and  assured  him,  among-  other  things,  that  she  avoided  as 
much  as  possible  all  opportunities  of  seeing  him.  The  prince’s 
violent  desire  for  an  imerview  with  her,  set  him  upon  devising 
another  expedient.  As  he  was  already  beginning  to  be  a  very 
good  horseman,  he  bethought  him  of  going  to  ride  his  great 
horses  in  a  large  open  place  of  the  town,  exactly  opposite  to  the 
house  of  the  butler,  in  which  Francoise  resided.  One  day,  after 
many  courses  and  leaps,  which  she  could  see  from  her  chamber 
window,  he  let  himself  fall  off  his  horse  into  a  great  puddle. 
Though  he  was  not  hurt,  he  took  care  to  make  great  moans,  and 
asked  if  there  was  no  house  into  which  he  might  go  and  change 
his  clothes.  Every  one  offered  him  his  own;  but  some  one 
having  remarked  that  the  butler’s  was  the  nearest  and  the  best,  it 
was  chosen  in  preference  to  any  of  the  others.  He  was  shown 
into  a  well  furnished  chamber,  and  as  his  clothes  were  all  muddy, 
he  stripped  to  his  shirt  and  went  to  bed.  Every  one  except  hij 
gentleman  having  gone  away  to  fetch  other  clothes  for  the  prince, 
he  sent  for  his  host  and  hostess,  and  asked  them  where  was 
Francoise  ?  They  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  find  her,  for  as 
soon  as  she  had  seen  the  prince  come  in,  she  had  gone  and  hid 
herself  in  the  remotest  corner  of  the  house.  Her  sister  found 
her  at  last,  and  begged  her  not  to  be  afraid  to  come  and  see  so 
polite  and  worthy  a  prince. 

“What!  sister,”  said  Francoise,  “you,  whom  I  regard  as 
my  mother,  would  you  persuade  me  to  speak  to  a  young 
prince  of  whose  intentions  I  cannot  be  ignorant,  as  you  well 
know  ?  ” 

But  her  sister  used  so  many  aiguments,  and  promised  sc 
earnestly  not  to  leave  her  alone,  that  Francoise  went  with  her, 
with  a  countenance  so  pale  and  dejected,  that  she  was  an  object 
rather  to  inspire  pity  than  love.  When  the  young  prince  saw  her 
at  his  bedside,  he  took  her  cold  and  trembling  hand,  and  said, 
“Why,  Francoise,  do  you  think  me  such  a  dangerous  and  cruel 
man  that  I  eat  the  women  I  look  at  ?  Why  do  you  so  much  fear 
a  man  who  desires  only  your  honour  and  advantage  ?  You 
know  that  I  have  everywhere  sought  in  vain  for  opportunities  to 
see  and  speak  to  you.  To  grieve  me  the  more,  you  have  shunned 
the  places  where  l  had  been  used  to  see  you  at  mass,  and  thereby 
you  have  deprived  me  of  the  satisfaction  of  my  eyes  and  my 
tongue.  But  all  this  has  availed  you  nothing.  I  have  done 
what  you  have  seen  in  order  to  come  hither,  and  have  run  the 
risk  of  breaking  my  neck  in  order  to  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking 


Novel  42.]  Fifth  Day.  253 

to  you  without  restraint  I  entreat  you  then,  Frar.coise, 
since  it  would  behard  for  me  to  have  taken  all  this  pains  to  no 
purpose,  that  as  I  have  so  much  love  for  you,  you  will  have  a 
little  for  me.” 

After  waiting  a  long  while  for  her  reply,  and  seeing  she  had 
tear1?  in  her  eyes,  and  durst  not  look  up,  he  drew  her  towards  him 
and  llmost  succeeded  in  kissing  her.  “  No,  my  lord,  no,”  she 
then  said,  “  what  you  ask  cannot  be.  Though  I  am  but  a  worm 
in  comparison  with  you,  honour  is  so  dear  to  me  that  I  would 
rather  die  than  wound  it  in  the  least  degree  for  any  pleasure  in 
the  world ;  and  my  fear,  lest  those  who  have  seen  you  come  in 
conceive  a  false  opinion  of  me,  makes  me  tremble  as  you  see. 
Since  you  are  pleased  to  do  me  the  honour  to  address  me,  you 
wdl  also  pardon  the  liberty  I  take  in  replying  to  you  as  honour 
prescribes.  I  am  not,  my  lord,  so  foolish  or  so  blind  as  not  to 
see  and  know  the  advantages  with  which  God  has  endowed  you, 
and  to  believe  that  she  who  shall  possess  the  heart  and  person  of 
such  a  prince  will  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world.  But 
what  good  does  that  do  me  ?  That  happiness  is  not  for  me  or 
for  any  woman  of  my  rank  ;  and  I  should  be.  a  downright  sim¬ 
pleton  if  1  even  entertained  the  desire.  What  reason  can  I 
believe  you  have  for  addressing  yourself  tome,  but  that  the  ladies 
of  your  house,  whom  you  love,  and  who  have  so  much  grace  and 
beauty,  are  so  virtuous  that  you  dare  not  ask  of  them  what  the 
lowness  of  my  condition  makes  you  easily  expect  of  me  ?  I  am 
sure  that  if  you  had  of  such  as  me  what  you  desire,  that  weak¬ 
ness  would  supply  you  with  matter  to  entertain  your  mistresses 
for  two  good  hours  ;  but  I  beg  you  to  believe,  my  lord,  that  I  am 
not  disposed  to  afford  you  that  pleasure.  I  was  brought  up  in  a 
house  in  which  I  learned  what  it  is  to  love.  My  father  and 
mother  were  among  your  good  servants.  Since  then  it  has  not 
pleased  God  that  I  should  be  born  a  princess  to  marry  you,  or  in 
a  rank  sufficiently  high  to  be  your  friend,  I  entreat  you  not  to 
think  of  reducing  me  to  the  rank  of  the  unfortunates  of  my  sex, 
since  there  is  no  one  who  esteems  you  more  than  I,  or  more 
earnestly  desires  that  you  may  be  one  of  the  happiest  princes  In 
Christendom.  If  you  want  women  of  my  station  for  your  diver¬ 
sion,  you  will  find  plenty  in  this  town  incomparably  handsomer 
than  myself,  and  who  will  spare  you  the  trouble  of  soliciting 
them  so  much.  Attach  yourself,  then,  if  you  please,  to  those 
who  will  gladly  let  you  buy  their  honour,  and  harass  no  longer 
a  poor  girl  who  loves  you  better  than  herself ;  for  if  God  were 
this  day  to  require  your  life  or  mine,  it  would  be  a  happiness  to 


254  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

me  to  sacrifice  mine  in  order  to  save  yours.  If  I  shun  youf 
person,  it  is  not  for  wont  of  love,  but  rather  because  I  too  well 
love  your  conscience  and  mine,  and  because  my  honour  is  more 
precious  to  me  than  my  life.  I  ask  you,  my  lord,  if  you  please, 
to  continue  to  honour  me  with  your  good-will,  and  I  will  pray  to 
God  all  my  life  for  your  health  and  prosperity.  It  is  true  that 
the  honour  you  do  me  will  give  me  a  better  opinion  of  myself 
among  persons  of  my  own  station  ;  for  after  having  seen  you, 
where  is  the  man  of  my  own  condition  whom  I  would  deign  to 
regard  ?  Thus  my  heart  will  be  free  and  under  no  obligation, 
except  that  which  I  shall  ever  acknowledge,  to  pray  to  God  for 
you,  which  is  all  I  can  do  for  you  while  I  live.” 

Contrary  as  this  reply  was  to  the  prince’s  desires,  nevertheless 
he  could  not  help  esteeming  her  as  she  deserved.  He  did  all  he 
could  to  make  her  believe  he  would  never  love  any  one  but  her¬ 
self  ;  but  she  had  so  much  sense  that  he  never  could  bring  her  to 
entertain  so  unreasonable  a  notion.  Though,  during  the  course 
of  this  conversation,  it  was  often  intimated  to  the  prince  that 
fresh  clothes  had  been  brought  him.  he  was  so  glad  to  remain 
where  he  was  that  he  sent  back  word  he  was  asleep.  But 
at  last,  supper- time  being  come,  and  not  daring  to  absent  him¬ 
self  from  respect  for  his  mother,  who  was  one  of  the  most 
correct  ladies  in  the  world,  he  went  away,  more  impressed  than 
ever  with  the  excellence  of  Francoise.  He  often  talked  of  her 
to  the  gentleman  who  slept  in  his  chamber.  That  person, 
imagining  that  money  would  be  more  effectual  than  love,  advised 
him  to  present  a  considerable  sum  to  the  girl  in  consideration  of 
the  favour  he  solicited.  As  the  young  prince’s  mother  was  his 
treasurer,  and  his  pocket  money  was  not  much,  he  borrowed,  and 
out  of  his  own  funds  and  those  of  his  friends  he  made  up  a  sum 
of  five  hundred  crowns,  which  he  sent  to  Francoise  by  his  gentle¬ 
man,  commissioning  him  to  beg  that  she  would  change  her 
mind. 

“Tell  your  master,”  she  said,  when  the  gentleman  offered  her 
the  present,  “that  my  heart  is  so  noble  and  generous,  that  were  it 
my  humour  to  do  what  he  desires,  his  good  looks  and  his  pleasing 
qualities  would  have  already  made  a  conquest  of  me  ;  but  since 
these  are  incapable  of  making  me  take  the  slightest  step  at 
variance  with  honour,  all  the  money  in  the  world  could  not  do  it. 
You  will  take  back  his  money  to  him,  if  you  please,  for  I  prefer 
honest  poverty  to  all  the  wealth  he  could  bestow  upon  me.” 

Baffled  by  this  downright  refusal,  the  gentleman  was  tempted 
10  think  that  a  little  violence  might  succeed,  and  he  dropped 


Novel  42.]  Fifth  Day.  2C$ 

threatening  hints  of  her  master’s  influence  and  power.  “  Mike  a 
bugbear  of  the  prince,”  she  said,  laughing  in  his  face,  '*to  those 
who  do  not  know  him  ;  but  I,  who  know  him  to  be  wist  and  vir¬ 
tuous,  can  never  believe  that  you  say  this  by  his  order;  and  I  am 
persuaded  that  he  will  disavow  it  all  if  you  repeat  it  to  him. 
But  even  were  it  true  that  you  had  his  authority  for  what  you 
say,  I  tell,  you  that  neither  t.  rments  nor  death  could  ever  shake 
my  resolution,  for,  as  I  have  said  before,  since  love  has  not 
changed  my  heart,  no  eaithly  good  or  evil  can  ever  effect  what 
that  has  failed  to  accompli sh,” 

It  was  with  indescribable  \exation  that  the  gentleman,  who 
had  undertaken  to  humanise  her,  cariied  back  this  answer  to  his 
master,  whom  he  urged  to  carry  his  point  by  all  possible  means, 
representing  to  him  that  it  would  be  shameful  for  him  to  have 
undertaken  such  a  conquest  and  not  achieve  it.  The  young 
prince,  who  wished  to  employ  only  fair  means,  and  who  was 
afraid,  besides,  of  his  mother’s  anger  if  the  story  got  abroad 
and  reached  her  ears,  durst  not  take  any  further  step,  until  at 
last  the  gentleman  suggested  to  him  an  expedient,  which  seemed 
to  him  so  good,  that  he  felt  already  as  if  the  fair  one  was  his 
own.  To  this  end  he  spoke  to  the  butler,  who,  being  ready  to 
serve  his  master  on  any  terms,  consented  to  everything  required 
of  him.  It  was  arranged,  then,  that  the  butler  should  invite  his 
wife  and  his  sister-in-law  to  go  see  their  vintage  at  a  house  he 
had  near  the  forest  ;  he  did  so,  and  they  agreed  to  the  proposal. 
The  appointed  day  being  come,  he  gave  notice  to  the  prince,  who 
was  to  go  to  the  same  place,  accompanied  only  by  his  gentleman. 
But  it  pleased  God  that  his  mother  was  that  day  adorning  a 
most  beautiful  cabinet,  and  had  all  her  children  to  help  her  ;  so 
that  the  proper  time  passed  by  before  the  prince  could  get  away. 
This  was  no  fault  of  the  butler’s,  who  had  fully  performed  his 
part  ;  for  he  made  his  wife  counterfeit  illness,  and  when  he  was 
on  horseback  with  his  sister-in-law  on  the  croup,  she  came  and 
told  him  that  she  could  not  go.  But  the  hour  having  passed  by 
and  no  prince  appearing,  “  I  believe,”  said  he  to  his  sister-in- 
law,  “  we  may  as  well  go  back  to  town.” 

“  Who  hinders  us  ?  15  said  Francoise. 

‘‘  I  was  waiting  for  the  prince,  who  had  promised  to  come,” 

said  the  butler. 

His  sister,  clearly  discerning  his  wicked  purpose,  replied, 
“  Wait  no  longer  for  him,  brother  ;  for  I  know  that  he  will  not 
come  to-day.” 

He  acquiesced,  and  took  her  home  again.  On  arriving  there 


4^5  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

she  let  him  know  her  dissatisfaction,  and  told  him  plainl)  he  was 
the  devil’s  valet,  and  did  more  than  he  was  commanded  ;  for  she 
was  very  sure  that  it  was  his  work  and  the  gentleman’s,  not  the 
prince’s  ;  that  they  both  liked  better  to  tlatter  his  weaknesses, 
and  gain  money,  than  to  do  their  duty  as  good  servants  ;  but 
that  since  she  knew  this  she  would  no  longer  remain  in  his 
house.  Thereupon  she  sent  for  her  brother  to  take  her  away  to 
his  own  country,  and  immediately  quitted  her  sister’s  house. 

The  butler  having  missed  his  blow,  went  to  the  chateau  to 
know  why  the  prince  had  not  come,  and  met  him  on  the  way, 
mounted  on  his  mule,  with  no  other  attendant  than  his  confi¬ 
dential  gentleman. 

“  Well,”  said  the  prince,  the  moment  he  saw  him,  is  she  still 
there  ?  ” 

The  butler  told  him  what  had  happened,  and  the  prince  was 
greatly  vexed  at  having  missed  the  rendezvous,  which  he  regarded 
is  his  last  hope.  However,  he  took  such  pains  to  meet  Fran- 
coise,  that  at  last  he  fell  in  with  her  in  a  company  from  which 
she  could  not  escape,  and  upbraided  her  strongly  for  her  cruelty 
to  him,  and  for  quitting  her  brother-in-law’s  house.  Francoise 
told  him  she  had  never  known  a  more  dangerous  man,  and  that 
he,  the  prince,  was  under  great  obligations  to  him,  since  he  em¬ 
ployed  in  his  service  not  only  his  body  and  his  substance,  but 
also  his  soul  and  his  conscience.  The  prince  could  not  help 
feeling  that  there  was  no  hope  for  him  ;  he  therefore  resolved  to 
press  her  no  more,  and  he  continued  all  his  life  to  entertain  a 
great  esteem  for  her.  One  of  his  domestics,  charmed  by  her 
virtue,  wished  to  marry  her ;  but  she  could  never  bring  herself 
to  consent  without  the  approbation  and  command  of  the  prince, 
on  whom  she  had  set  her  whole  affection.  She  had  him  spoken 
to  on  the  subject ;  he  consented  to  the  marriage,  and  it  took 
place.  She  lived  all  her  life  in  good  repute,  and  the  prince  did 
her  much  kindness.* 

What  shall  we  say  ladies?  Are  we  so  low  spirited  as  to  make 
our  servants  our  masters  ?  She  whose  story  1  have  related  to 
you  was  not  to  be  overcome  either  by  love  or  by  importunity. 
Let  us  imitate  her  example  and  be  victorious  over  ourselves. 
Nothing  is  more  praiseworthy  than  to  subdue  one’s  passions. 

“I  see  but  one  thing  to  regret  in  this  case,”  said  Oisille, 

*  The  young  lord  spoken  of  in  this  novel  is  evidently  Francis  I.  ;  and  the 
town  of  Touraine  is  Amboise,  wheie  Louise  of  Savoy  resided  with  her  children. 


Novel  42.]  Fifth  Day.  257 

•'  which  is,  that  actions  so  virtuous  did  not  take  place  in  the  time 
of  the  historian.  Those  who  have  so  lauded  Lucretia  would  have 
left  her  story  to  relate  the  virtues  of  this  heroine.  They  seem 
tto  me  so  great  that  I  could  hardly  believe  them,  had  we  not  sworn 
to  speak  the  truth.” 

“  Her  virtue  does  not  seem  to  me  so  great  as  you  make  it  out 
to  be,”  said  Hircan.  “  You  must  have  seen  plenty  of  squeamish 
invalids,  who  left  good  and  wholesome  food  for  what  was  bad 
and  unwholesome.  Perhaps  this  girl  loved  some  one  else,  for 
whose  sake  she  despised  persons  of  the  first  order.” 

To  that  Parlamente  replied,  that  the  life  and  end  of  this  girl 
showed  “  that  she  had  never  loved  but  him  whom  she  loved  above 
her  life,  but  not  above  her  honour.” 

“  Put  that  out  of  your  head,”  said  Saffredent,  “  and  learn 
what  was  the  origin  of  that  phrase  honour ,  which  prudes  make 
such  a  fuss  about.  Perhaps  those  who  talk  so  much  about  it  do 
not  know  what  it  means.  In  the  time  when  men  were  not 
over  crafty — the  golden  age,  if  you  will — love  was  so  frank, 
simple,  and  strong  that  no  one  knew  what  it  was  to  dissemble, 
and  he  who  loved  most  was  the  most  esteemed.  But  malignity, 
avarice,  and  sin,  having  taken  possession  of  men’s  hearts,  drove 
out  from  them  God  and  love,  and  put  there,  instead  of  them,  self- 
love,  hypocrisy,  and  feigning.  The  ladies  seeing  that  they  had  not 
the  virtue  of  true  and  genuine  love,  and  that  hypocrisy  was  very 
odious  amongst  mankind,  gave  it  the  name  of  honour.  Those, 
then,  who  could  not  compass  that  true  love  said  that  they 
were  forbidden  by  honour.  This  practice  they  have  erected  into 
so  cruel  a  law  that  even  those  of  their  sex  who  love  perfectly 
dissemble,  and  think  that  this  virtue  is  a  vice  ;  but  such  of  them 
as  have  good  sense  and  sound  judgment  never  fall  into  this  error 
They  know  the  difference  between  darkness  and  light ;  and  know 
that  genuine  love  consists  in  manifesting  chastity  of  heart,  which 
Jives  upon  love  alone,  and  does  not  pride  itself  on  dissimulation, 
which  is  a  vice.’" 

“Yet  it  is  said,”  observed  Dagoucin,  “that  the  most  secret 
love  is  the  most  commendable.” 

“Secret,”  replied  Simontault,  “for  those  who  might  misjudge 
it,  but  clear  and  avowed  at  least  for  the  two  persons  concerned.” 

“  So  I  understand  it,”  said  Dagoucin.  “  Nevertheless,  it  were 
better  it  were  unknown  by  one  of  the  two  than  known  to  a  third. 

I  believe  that  the  subject  of  the  tale  loved  the  more  strongly  that 
she  did  not  declare  her  love.” 

“  Be  this  as  it  may,”  said  Longarine,  “  virtue  is  to  be  esteemed; 

s 


258  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

and  th*  highest  virtue  is  to  overcome  one’s  own  heart.  When  I 
conn'd*’  the  means  and  opportunities  she  had,  I  maintain  that  she 
was  entitled  to  be  called  a  heroine.” 

“  Since  you  make  self-mortification  the  measure  of  virtue,”  said 
Saffredent,  “the  prince  deserved  more  praise  than  she  did.  To 
be  convinced  of  this,  one  has  only  to  consider  his  passion  for  her, 
his  power,  his  opportunities,  and  the  means  he  might  have  em¬ 
ployed,  yet  would  not,  that  he  might  not  violate  the  rule  of 
perfect  affection,  which  makes  the  indigent  equal  to  the  prince, 
but  contented  himself  with  employing  the  means  which  fair 
dealing  permits.” 

“There  is  many  a  one  who  would  not  have  done  that,”  said 
Hhcan. 

“He  is  the  more  to  be  esteemed,”  replied  Longarine,  “because 
he  overcame  the  evil  disposition  common  to  men.  Blessed,  un¬ 
questionably,  is  he  who  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  evil  yet  does  it 
not.” 

“You  put  me  in  mind,”  said  Geburon,  “of  a  woman  who  was 
more  afraid  of  offending  men  than  God,  her  honour,  and  love.” 

“Pray  tell  us  the  story,”  said  Parlamente. 

“  There  are  people,”  he  continued,  “  who  own  no  God,  or  who, 
if  they  believe  there  is  one,  think  Him  so  remote  that  he  can 
neither  see  nor  know  the  bad  acts  they  commit  ;  or  if  He  does, 
they  suppose  Him  to  be  so  careless  and  indifferent  to  what  is  done 
here  below  that  he  will  not  punish  them.  Of  this  way  of 
thinking  was  a  lady,  whose  name  I  shall  conceal  for  the  honour 
of  her  race,  and  call  her  Jambicque.  She  used  often  to  say  that 
to  care  only  for  God  was  all  very  well,  but  the  main  point  with 
her  was  to  preserve  her  honour  before  men.  But  you  will  see, 
ladies,  that  her  prudence  and  her  hypociisy  did  not  save  her. 
Her  secret  was  revealed,  as  you  shall  find  from  her  story,  in 
which  I  will  state  nothing  but  what  is  true,  except  the  names  of 
the  persons  and  the  places,  which  I  shall  change.” 


NOVEL  XLIII. 

Hypocrisy  of  a  court  lady  discovered  by  the  denouement  of  her  amours,  which 

she  wished  to  conceal. 

PRINCESS  of  great  eminence  lived  in  a  very  hand¬ 
some  chateau,  and  had  with  her  a  lady  named  Jam¬ 
bicque,  of  a  haughty  and  audacious  spirit,  who  was, 
nevertheless,  such  a  favourite  with  her  mistress  that 
she  did  nothing  but  by  her  advice,  believing  her  to  be  the  most 


Nwel  43.]  Fifth  Day.  259 

discreet  and  virtuous  lady  of  her  time.  This  Jambicque  used  to 
inveigh  loudly  against  illicit  love  ;  and  if  ever  she  saw  that  any 
gentleman  was  enamoured  with  one  of  her  companions,  she  used 
to  reprimand  the  pair  with  great  bitterness,  and  tell  a  very  bad 
tale  of  them  to  her  mistress,  so  that  she  was  much  more  feared 
than  loved.  As  for  her,  she  never  spoke  to  a  man  except  aloud, 
and  with  so  much  haughtiness  that  she  was  universally  regarded 
as  an  inveterate  foe  to  love  ;  but,  in  her  heart,  she  was  quite 
otherwise.  In  fact,  there  was  a  gentleman  in  her  mistress’s 
service  with  whom  she  was  as  much  in  love  as  a  woman  could 
be  ;  but  so  dear  to  her  was  her  good  name,  and  the  reputation 
she  had  made  herself,  that  she  entirely  dissembled  her  passion. 

After  suffering  for  a  year,  without  choosing  to  solace  herself,  like 
other  women,  by  means  of  her  eyes  and  her  tongue,  her  heart 
became  so  inflamed  that  she  was  driven  to  seek  the  ultimate 
remedy  ;  and  she  made  up  her  mind  that  it  was  better  to  satisfy 
her  desire,  provided  none  but  God  knew  her  heart,  than  to  confide 
it  to  one  who  might  betray  her  secret.  Having  come  to  this  reso¬ 
lution,  one  day  when  she  was  in  her  mistress’s  chamber,  and  was 
looking  out  on  a  terrace,  she  saw  the  gentleman  she  loved 
so  much  walking  there.  After  gazing  on  him  until  darkness 
concealed  him  from  her  sight,  she  called  her  little  page,  and, 
pointing  out  the  gentleman  to  him,  “  Do  you  see,”  she  said, 
“that  gentleman  in  a  crimson  satin  doublet,  and  a  robe  trimmed 
with  lynx  fur  ?  Go  and  tell  him  that  a  friend  of  his  wishes  to 
see  him,  and  is  waiting  for  him  in  the  gallery  in  the  garden.” 

Whilst  the  page  was  doing  his  errand,  she  went  out  the  back 
way,  and  went  to  the  gallery,  after  putting  on  her  mask  and 
pulling  down  her  hood.  When  the  gentleman  entered  the 
gallery,  she  first  fastened  both  the  doors,  so  that  no  one  should 
come  in  upon  them,  and  then,  embracing  him  with  all  her 
might,  she  said  in  a  low  whisper,  “This  long  time,  my  friend, 
the  love  I  have  for  you  has  made  me  long  for  place  and  time  to 
speak  with  you  ;  but  my  fear  for  my  honour  has  been  so  great 
that  I  have  been  constrained,  in  spite  of  myself,  to  conceal  my 
passion.  But  at  last  love  has  prevailed  over  fear  ;  and  as  your 
honour  is  known  to  me,  I  declare  that  if  you  will  promise  to 
love  me,  and  never  to  speak  of  it  to  anyone,  or  inquire  whom  I 
am,  I  will  be  all  my  life  your  faithful  and  loving  friend  ;  and  I 
assure  you  I  will  never  love  any  but  you  ;  but  I  would  rather 
die  than  tell  you  who  I  am  !” 

The  gentleman  promised  all  she  asked,  and  thereby  encouraged 
her  to  treat  him  in  the  same  way — that  is  to  say,  refuse  him  nothing. 


160  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

It  was  in  winter,  about  five  or  six  o’clock  in  the  evening,  when,  of 
course,  he  could  not  see  much.  But  if  his  eyes  were  of  little 
service  to  him  on  the  occasion,  his  hands  were  not  so.  Touching 
her  clothes,  he  found  they  were  of  velvet,  a  costly  stuff  in 
those  times,  and  not  worn  everyday,  except  by  ladies  of  high 
family.  As  far  as  the  hand  could  judge,  all  beneath  was  neat, 
and  in  the  best  condition.  Accordingly  he  tried  to  regale  her  to 
the  best  of  his  ability  ;  she  too  performed  her  part  equally  well, 
and  the  gentleman  easily  perceived  she  was  married. 

When  she  was  about  to  return  to  the  place  whence  she  came, 
the  gentleman  said  to  her.  ‘  Highly  do  I  prize  the  favour  you 
have  conferred  on  me  without  my  deserving  it  ;  but  that  will  be 
still  more  precious  to  me  which  you  will  grant  at  my  entreaty. 
Enchanted  as  I  am  by  your  gracious  favour,  I  beg  you  will  tell 
me  if  I  am  to  expect  a  continuance  of  it,  and  in  what  manner  I 
am  to  act ;  for,  not  knowing  you,  how  am  I  to  address  you 
elsewhere  to  solicit  the  renewal  of  my  happiness  ?  ” 

“  Give’yourself  no  concern  about  that,”  replied  the  fair  one, 
but  rely  upon  it  that  every  evening  after  my  mistress  has  supped, 
1  shall  be  sure  to  send  for  you,  if  you  are  on  the  terrace  where 
you  were  just  now.  But,  above  all  things,  do  not  forget  what 
you  have  promised.  When  I  simply  send  word  that  you  are 
wanted,  you  will  understand  that  I  await  you  in  the  gallery  ;  but 
if  you  hear  speak  of  going  to  meat,  you  may  either  retire  01 
come  to  our  mistress’s  apartment.  Above  all,  I  beg  you  never  to 
attempt  to  know  who  I  am,  unless  you  wish  to  break  our 
friendship.” 

The  lady  and  the  gentleman  then  went  their  several  ways. 
Their  intrigue  lasted  a  long  while  without  his  ever  being  able  to 
know  who  she  was,  though  he  had  a  marvellous  longing  to  satisfy 
his  curiosity  on  the  point.  He  wearied  his  imagination  in  vain 
to  guess  who  she  might  be,  and  could  not  conceive  that  there 
was  a  woman  in  the  world  who  did  not  choose  to  be  seen  and 
loved.  As  he  had  heard  some  stupid  preacher  say  that  no  one 
who  had  seen  the  face  of  the  devil  would  ever  love  him,  he 
imagined  that  she  might  possibly  be  some  evil  spirit.  To  clear 
up  his  doubts,  he  resolved  to  know  who  she  was  who  received 
him  so  graciously.  The  next  time,  therefore,  that  she  sent  for 
him,  he  took  some  chalk,  and  in  the  act  of  embracing  her 
marked  her  shoulder  without  her  perceiving  it.  As  soon  as  she 
had  left  him,  he  hastened  to  the  princess’s  chamber,  and 
stationed  himself  at  the  door  to  observe  the  shoulders  of  the 
ladies  who  entered.  It  was  not  long  before  he  saw  that  same 


Novel  43.]  Fifth  Bay.  261 

Jambicque  advance  to  the  door,  with  such  an  air  of  lofty  disdain, 
that  he  durst  not  think  of  scrutinising  her  like  the  others,  feeling 
assured  that  she  could  not  be  the  person  he  sought.  But  when 
her  back  was  turned,  he  could  not  help  seeing  the  mark  of  the 
chalk,  though  such  was  his  astonishment  he  could  hardly  believe 
his  own  eyes.  However,  after  having  well  considered  her  figure, 
which  corresponded  precisely  to  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
touching  in  the  dark,  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  she  herself; 
and  he  was  very  glad  to  see  that  a  woman  who  had  never  been 
suspected  of  having  a  gallant,  and  was  renowned  for  having 
refused  so  many  worthy  gentlemen,  had  at  last  fixed  upon  him 
alone. 

Love,  who  never  remains  in  one  mood,  could  not  suffer  him 
long  to  enjoy  that  satisfaction.  The  gentleman  conceived  such  a 
good  opinion  of  his  own  powers  of  pleasing,  and  flattered  him¬ 
self  with  such  fair  hopes,  that  he  resolved  to  mak  his  love 
known  to  her,  imagining  that  when  he  had  done  so.  he  should 
have  reason  to  love  her  still  more  passionately.  One  day,  when  the 
princess  was  walking  in  the  garden,  the  Lady  Jambicque  turned 
into  an  alley  by  herself.  The  gentleman,  seeing  her  alone,  went 
to  converse  with  her,  and  feigning  not  to  have  seen  her  elsewhere, 
said  to  her,  “  I  have  long  loved  you,  mademoiselle,  but  durst  not 
tell  you  so,  for  fear  of  offending  you.  This  constraint  is  so  irk¬ 
some  to  me  that  I  must  speak  or  die  ;  for  I  do  not  believe  that 
any  one  can  love  you  as  1  do.” 

Here  the  Lady  Jambicque  cut  him  short,  and  looking  sternly 
upon  him,  “Have  you  ever  heard,”  she  said,  “that  I  had  a 
lover  ?  I  trow  not  ;  and  I  am  amazed  at  your  presumption  in 
daring  to  address  such  language  to  a  lady  of  my  character.  You 
have  seen  enough  of  me  here  to  be  aware  that  I  shall  never  love 
any  one  but  my  husband.  Beware,  then,  how  you  venture  again 
to  speak  to  me  in  any  such  way.” 

Astonished  at  such  profound  hypocrisy,  the  gentleman  could 
not  help  laughing.  “You  have  not  always  been  so  rigid,  madam,” 
he  said.  “  What  is  the  use  of  dissembling  with  me  ?  Is  it  not 
better  we  should  love  peifectly  than  imperfectly  ?” 

“I  neither  love  you  perfectly  nor  imperfectly,”  replied  Jam¬ 
bicque,  “  but  regard  you  just  as  I  do  my  mistress’s  other  servants. 
But  if  you  continue  to  speak  to  me  in  this  manner,  I  am  very 
likely  to  hate  you  in  such  sort  that  you  will  repent  of  having 
given  me  provocation.” 

The  gentleman,  pushing  his  point,  rejoined,  “  Where  are  the 
caressss,  mademoiselle,  which  you  bestow  upon  me  when  I  can- 


262  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

not  see  you  ?  Why  deprive  me  of  them  now  that  day  reveals 
your  exquisite  beauty  to  me  ?” 

“You  are  out  of  your  senses,”  exclaimed  Jambicque,  making  a 
great  sign  of  the  cross,  “or  you  are  the  greatest  liar  in  the 
world  ;  for  I  don’t  believe  I  ever  bestowed  on  you  more  or  less 
caresses  than  I  do  this  moment.  What  is  it  you  mean,  pray  ?” 

The  poor  gentleman,  thinking  to  force  her  from  her  subter¬ 
fuges,  named  the  place  where  he  had  met  her,  and  told  her  of 
the  mark  he  had  put  upon  her  with  chalk  in  order  to  recognise 
her.  Her  exasperation  was  then  so  excessive  that,  instead  of 
confessing,  she  told  him  he  was  the  most  wicked  of  men  to  have 
invented  such  an  in.amous  lie  against  her,  but  that  she  would 
try  to  make  him  repent  it.  Knowing  what  influence  she  had 
with  her  mistress,  he  tried  to  appease  her,  but  all  in  vain.  She 
rushed  from  him  in  fury,  and  went  to  where  her  mistress  was 
walking,  who  quitted  the  company  with  her  to  converse  with 
Jambicque,  whom  she  loved  as  herself.  The  princess,  seeing 
her  so  agitated,  asked  her  what  was  the  matter?  Jambicque 
concealed  nothing,  but  told  her  all  the  gentleman  had  said,  put¬ 
ting  it  in  so  artful  a  manner  and  so  much  to  the  poor  gentleman’s 
disadvantage,  that  his  mistress  that  very  evening  sent  him  orders 
to  go  home  instantly,  without  saying  a  word  to  any  one,  and  to 
remain  there  until  further  orders.  He  obeyed  for  fear  of  worse. 
As  long  as  Jambicque  was  with  the  princess  he  remained  in 
exile,  and  never  heard  from  Jambicque,  who  had  warned  him 
truly  that  he  should  lose  her  if  ever  he  tried  to  know  her  * 

You  may  see,  ladies,  how  she,  who  preferred  the  world’s 
respect  to  her  conscience,  lost  both  the  one  and  the  other  ;  for 
everybody  now  knows  what  she  wished  to  conceal  from  her  lover; 
and  through  her  desire  to  avoid  being  mocked  by  one  alone, 
she  has  now  become  an  object  of  derision  to  all  the  world. 
It  cannot  be  said  in  her  excuse  that  hers  was  an  ingenuous 

*  Brant6me  [Dames  Galantes,  Discours  ii.) ,  gives  a  detailed  analysis  of  this 
novel  in  a  very  lively  style,  and  says  of  the  too-talkative  gallant,  “  Those  who 
knew  the  temper  of  this  gentleman  will  hold  him  excused,  for  he  was  neither 
cold  nor  discreet  enough  to  play  that  game,  and  mask  himself  with  that  dis¬ 
cretion.  According  to  what  I  have  heard  from  my  mother,  who  was  in  the 
Queen  of  Navarre’s  service  and  knew  some  secrets  of  her  novels,  and  was 
herself  one  of  the  confabulators  ( devisantes ),  it  was  my  late  uncle  La  Chastai- 
gneraye,  who  was  brusque,  hasty,  and  rather  volatile.”  This  Seigneur  de  La 
Chastaign<-raye  is  the  same  who  fought  the  famous  duel  with  the  Sire  de  Jarnac, 
in  which  he  was  killed  with  a  sword-pass  known  by  the  name  of  coup  de  Jarnac 
Brantome  says  that  the  lady  was  a  grande  dame ,  but  he  does  not  name  her. 


Novel  44.]  Fifth  Day.  263 

love,  the  simplicity  of  which  claims  every  one’s  p'.fy  ;  for 
what  makes  her  doubly  deserving  of  condemnation  is  that  her 
design  was  to  cover  the  wickedness  of  her  heart  witn  the  mantle 
of  glory  and  honour,  and  pass  before  God  and  man  for  what  she 
was  not.  But  He  who  will  not  give  His  glory  to  another  was 
pleased  to  unmask  her,  and  make  her  appear  doubly  infamous. 

“Truly,”  said  Oisille,  “  this  woman  was  wholly  inexcusable; 
for  who  can  say  a  word  for  her,  since  God,  honoui,  and  love  are 
her  accusers  ?  ” 

“Who?”  exclaimed  Hircan,  “why,  pleasure  and  folly,  two 
great  advocates  for  the  ladies.” 

‘‘If  we  had  no  other  advocates,”  said  Parlamente,  “our 
cause  would  be  ill  defended.  Those  who  let  pleasure  get  the 
better  of  them,  ought  no  longer  to  call  themselves  women,  but 
men  ;  for  the  honour  of  that  sex  is  not  sullied  but  exalted  by 
lust  and  concupiscence.  A  man  who  revenges  himself  on  his 
enemy,  and  kills  him  for  giving  him  the  lie,  passes  for  a  brave 
man,  and  is  so,  indeed.  It  is  the  same  thing  when  a  man  loves 
a  dozen  women  besides  his  own  wife.  But  the  honour  of  women 
has  a  different  foundation — that  is  to  say,  gentleness,  patience, 
and  chastity.” 

“  You  speak  of  the  wise  among  them,”  rejoined  Hircan. 

“  I  do  not  choose  to  know  any  others,”  said  Parlamente. 

“  If  there  were  no  foolish  ones,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  those  who 
would  fain  be  believed  by  everybody  would  prove  to  have  been 
often  liars.” 

“Pray,  Nomerfide,”  said  Geburon,  “let  me  give  you  my 
voice,  in  order  that  you  may  tell  us  a  tale  to  that  purpose.” 

“  Since  virtue  constrains  me,  and  you  make  it  my  turn,  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  know  to  that  effect.  I  have  not  heard  any  one 
here  present  fail  to  speak  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  Cordeliers, 
and  in  pity  for  them  I  propose  to  say  some  good  of  them  in  the 
tale  you  are  about  to  hear.” 


NOVEL  XLIV. 

A  cordelier  received  a  double  alms  for  telling  the  plain  truth. 

CORDELIER  came  to  the  bouse  of  Sedan  to  ask 
Madame  de  Sedan,  who  was  of  the  house  of  Coucy, 
for  a  pig  she  used  to  give  them  every  year  as  alms. 
Monseigneur  de  Sedan,  who  was  a  wise  and  facetious 
man,  made  the  good  father  eat  at  his  table,  and  to  put  him  on  his 


264  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

mettle,  he  said  to  him  among  other  things,  “You  do  well,  good 
father,  to  make  your  gatherings  whilst  you  are  not  known,  for  I 
am  greatly  afraid  that  if  once  your  hypocrisy  is  discovered,  you 
will  no  longer  have  the  bread  of  poor  children  earned  by  the 
sweat  of  their  fathers.”  The  Cordelier  was  not  abashed  by  this 
remark,  but  replied,  “  My  lord,  our  order  is  so  well  founded  that 
it  will  endure  as  long  as  the  world,  for  our  foundation  will  never 
fail  so  long  as  there  are  men  and  women  on  earth.”  Monseig¬ 
neur  de  Sedan  being  curious  to  know  what  was  this  foundation 
he  spoke  of,  pressed  him  strongly  to  tell.  After  many  attempts 
to  excuse  himself,  the  Cordelier  said,  “  Know,  my  lord,  that  we 
are  founded  on  the  folly  of  women  ;  and  as  long  as  there  is  a 
foolish  woman  in  the  world,  we  shall  not  die  of  hunger.” 

Madame  de  Sedan,  who  was  very  choleric,  hearing  this  speech, 
flew  into  such  a  passion  that  if  her  husband  had  not  been 
there,  she  would  have  had  the  Cordelier  roughly  handled  ;  and 
she  swore  very  decidedly  he  should  never  have  the  pig  she  had 
promised  ;  but  Monseigneur  de  Sedan,  seeing  he  had  not  dis¬ 
guised  the  truth,  swore  he  should  have  two,  and  had  them  sent 
to  his  monastery. 

Thus  it  was,  ladies,  that  the  Cordelier,  being  sure  that  ladies’ 
offerings  could  not  fail  him,  contrived  to  have  the  favour  and  the 
alms  of  men  for  speaking  the  plain  truth.  Had  he  been  a 
flatterer  and  dissembler,  he  would  have  been  more  pleasing  to  the 
ladies,  but  not  so  profitable  to  himself  and  his  brethren. 

The  novel  was  not  ended  without  making  the  company  laugh, 
especially  those  of  them  who  knew  the  lord  and  lady  of  Sedan. 
“  The  Cordeliers,  then,”  said  Hircan,  “ought  never  to  preach  with 
a  view  to  make  women  wise,  since  their  folly  serves  them  so 
well.” 

“They  do  not  preach  to  them  to  be  wise,”  said  Parlamente, 
“but  only  to  believe  themselves  so;  for  those  women  who  are 
wholly  mundane  and  foolish,  give  them  no  great  alms  ;  but  those 
who  by  reason  of  frequenting  their  monasteries,  and  carrying 
paternosters  marked  with  a  death’s  head,  and  wearing  their 
hoods  lower  than  others,  think  themselves  the  wisest,  are  those 
who  may  well  be  called  foolish  ;  for  they  rest  their  salvation  on 
the  confidence  they  have  in  those  unrighteous  men  whom,  in 
consideration  of  a  little  seeming,  they  esteem  demi  gods.” 

“  But  who  can  help  believing  them,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  seeing 
that  they  are  ordained  by  our  prelates  to  preach  the  Gospel,  and 
reprove  us  for  our  sins  ?  ” 


Novel  44.  J  Fifth  Day .  265 

“Those  can,”  replied  Parlamente,  “who  have  known  their 
hypocrisy,  and  who  know  the  difference  between  God's  doctrine 
and  the  devil’s.” 

“Jesus  !  ”  exclaimed  Ennasuite,  “can  you  suppose  that  those 
people  would  dare  preach  a  bad  doctrine  ?  ” 

“  Suppose  ?  ”  returned  Parlamente,  “  nay,  I  am  sure  theie  is 
nothing  they  believe  less  than  the  Gospel  ;  I  mean  the  bad  ones 
among  them,  for  I  know  many  good  men  who  preach  the  Scrip¬ 
tures  purely  and  simply,  and  live  likewise  without  scandal, 
without  ambition  or  covetousness,  and  in  chastity  that  is  neither 
feigned  nor  constrained.  But  the  streets  are  not  so  full  of  such 
men  as  of  their  opposites ;  and  the  good  tree  is  known  by  its 
fruits.” 

“In  good  faith,  I  thought,”  said  Ennasuite,  “that  we  were 
bound  under  pain  of  mortal  sin  to  believe  all  they  tell  us  from 
the  pulpit  of  truth,  when  they  speak  only  of  what  is  in  Holy 
Writ,  or  adduce  the  expositions  of  holy  doctors  divinely  in¬ 
spired.” 

**  For  my  part,”  said  Parlamente,  “  I  cannot  ignore  the  fact 
that  there  have  been  among  them  men  of  very  bad  faith  ;  for  I 
know  well  that  one  of  them,  a  doctor  in  theology  and  a  principal 
of  their  order,  wanted  to  persuade  several  of  his  brethren  that 
the  Gospel  was  no  more  worthy  of  belief  than  Caesar’s  Com¬ 
mentaries,  or  other  histories  written  by  authentic  doctors  ;  and, 
from  the  hour  I  heard  that,  I  would  never  believe  a  preacher’s 
word,  unless  I  found  it  conformable  to  God’s,  which  is  the  true 
touchstone  for  distinguishing  true  words  and  false.” 

“Be  assured,”  said  Oisille,  “that  they  who  often  read  it  in 
humility  will  never  be  deceived  by  human  fictions  or  inventions; 
for  whoso  has  a  mind  filled  with  truth  cannot  receive  a  lie.” 

“Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  a  simple  person  is  more  easily  .de¬ 
ceived  than  another,”  observed  Simontault. 

“Yes,”  said  Longarine,  “if  you  esteem  silliness  to  be  sim¬ 
plicity.” 

“Isay,”  returned  Simontault,  “that  a  good  gentle,  simple 
woman  is  more  easily  beguiled  than  one  who  is  cunning  and 

crafty.” 

“  I  suppose  you  know  some  one  who  is  too  full  of  such  good¬ 
ness,”  said  Nomerfide  ;  “  if  so,  tell  us  about  her.” 

“  Since  you  have  so  well  guessed,  I  will  not  disappoint  you,” 
replied  Simontault  ;  “  but  you  must  promise  me  not  to  weep. 
Those  who  say,  ladies,  that  your  craltiness  exceeds  that  of  men, 
would  find  it  hard  to  produce  such  an  example  as  that  1  am 


266  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

about  to  relate  to  you,  wherein  I  intend  to  set  forth  the  great 
craft  of  a  husbmd,  and  the  simplicity  and  good  nature  of  his 
wife.” 

[The  preceding  novel  and  epilogue,  which  are  found  in  all  the  MSS.,  are 
wanting  in  the  edition  of  1588.  Claude  Gouget  has  substituted  the  following 
for  them  in  that  of  1559.] 


How  two  lovers  cleverly  consummated  their  amours,  the  issue  of  which  was 

happy. 

HERE  were  in  Paris  two  citizens,  one  of  them  a  lawyer, 
the  other  a  silk-mercer,  who  had  always  been  great 
friends,  and  on  the  most  familiar  terms.  The  lawyer 
had  a  son  named  Jacques,  a  young  man  very  pre¬ 
sentable  in  good  society,  who  often  visited  his  father’s  friend,  the 
mercer;  but  it  was  for  sake  of  a  handsome  daughter  the  latter 
had,  named  Fran^oise,  to  whom  Jacques  paid  his  court  so  well 
that  he  became  assured  she  loved  him  no  less  than  he  loved 
her.  Whilst  matters  stood  thus,  an  army  was  sent  into  Provence 
to  oppose  the  descent  which  Charles  of  Austria  was  about  to 
make  in  that  quarter  ;  and  Jacques  was  forced  to  join  that  army, 
being  called  out  in  his  order.  He  had  hardly  arrived  in  the 
camp  when  he  received  news  of  his  father’s  death.  This  was  a 
double  grief  to  him  :  on  the  one  hand,  from  the  loss  of  his 
father  ;  on  the  other  hand,  from  the  obstacles  he  plainly  foresaw 
he  should  encounter  on  his  return  to  seeing  his  mistress  as  often 
as  he  had  hoped.  Time  allayed  the  first  of  these  griefs,  but 
made  him  feel  the  other  more  acutely.  As  death  is  in  the  course 
of  nature,  and  it  is  usual  for  parents  to  die  before  their  children, 
the  grief  that  is  felt  for  their  loss  gradually  subsides.  But  if  is 
quite  otherwise  with  love  ;  for  instead  of  bringing  us  death,  it 
brings  us  life,  by  giving  us  children  who  render  us  immortal,  so 
to  speak  ;  and  this  it  is,  principally,  which  renders  our  desires 
the  more  ardent. 

Jacques,  being  then  returned  to  Paris,  thought  of  nothing  but 
how  to  renew  his  intimacy  with  the  mercer,  in  order  to  traffic  in 
the  choicest  of  his  warts  under  pretext  of  pure  friendship. 
As  Fran^oise  had  beauty  and  sprightliness,  and  had  long  been 
marriageable,  she  had  several  suitors  during  the  absence  of 
Jacques  ;  but  whether  it  was  that  her  father  was  stingy,  or  that, 
having  but  that  one  child,  he  wished  to  establish  her  well,  he  had 
not  made  much  account  of  any  of  these  suitors.  As  people  do 


Novel  44.]  Fifth  Day.  267 

not  wait  now-a-days  before  talking  scandal  until  they  have  just 
grounds  for  it,  especially  where  the  honour  of  our  sex  is  con¬ 
cerned,  this  set  people  talking  ill  of  Frangoise.  Her  father,  not 
choosing  to  do  like  many  others,  who,  instead  of  reproving  the 
faults  of  their  wives  and  children,  seem,  on  the  contrary,  to 
incite  them  thereto,  did  not  shut  his  ears  or  his  eyes  to  the 
popular  opinion,  but  watched  his  daughter  so  closely  that  even 
those  who  sought  her  with  no  other  intention  than  marriage  saw 
her  but  rarely,  and  then  only  in  her  mother’s  presence.  It  need 
not  be  asked  whether  or  not  such  vigilance  was  irksome  to 
Jacques,  who  could  not  conceive  that  they  should  treat  her  so 
rigorously  without  some  important  reason  to  him  unknown. 
This  conjecture  distressed  him,  and  distracted  his  feelings 
between  love  and  jealousy. 

Resolved  at  all  cost  to  know  what  might  be  this  mysterious 
reason,  he  proposed  to  ascertain  in  the  first  place  if  she  still 
retained  the  same  tender  sentiments  towards  him  ;  and  he  went 
about  so  assiduously  that  at  last  he  found  means  one  morning  at 
mass  to  place  himself  near  her,  when  he  perceived  from  her 
manner  that  she  was  as  glad  to  see  him  as  he  her.  As  he  knew 
that  the  mother  was  not  so  strict  as  the  father,  he  sometimes  took 
the  liberty,  when  he  met  them  on  their  way  to  church,  to  accost 
them  familiarly  and  with  ordinary  politeness  ;  and  this  as  if  he 
had  met  them  by  mere  chance,  the  whole  being  with  a  view  to 
prepare  matters  for  the  design  he  meditated. 

By-and-by,  when  the  year  of  mourning  for  his  father  was 
nearly  expired,  he  resolved,  when  changing  his  garments,  to  put 
himself  on  a  good  footing,  and  do  honour  to  his  ancestors.  He 
spoke  of  his  intention  to  his  mother,  who  approved  of  it,  and 
longed  the  more  ardently  to  see  him  well  married,  as  she  had 
but  two  children,  himself  and  a  daughter,  who  was  already 
settled  in  life.  Like  an  honourable  lady  as  she  was,  she  en¬ 
couraged  her  son  to  virtue  by  setting  before  him  the  example  of 
a  great  number  of  young  men  of  his  own  age.  who  were  making 
way  by  themselves,  or  at  least  showed  that  they  were  worthy  of 
the  parents  from  whom  they  derived  their  being.  As  the  only 
question  now  was  where  they  should  make  their  purchases,  the 
good  lady  said  to  her  son,  “  It  is  my  opinion,  Jacques,  that  we 
cannot  do  better  than  to  go  to  Daddy  Pierre’s  (this  was  the 
faiher  of  Frangoise).  He  is  one  of  our  friends,  and  would  not 
cheat  us.” 

This  was  tickling  her  son  where  he  itched  ;  however,  he  stood 
cut,  and  said,  “  We  will  go  and  deal  where  we  are  best  served, 


a68  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

and  cheapest.  However,  as  Daddy  Pierre  was  the  intimate 
friend  of  my  late  father,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  give  him  the 
first  call  before  we  go  elsewhere.” 

One  morning,  accordingly,  the  mother  and  son  went  to  seethe 
Sire  Pierre,  who  received  them  very  well,  as  you  know  that 
merchants  can  do  when  they  scent  profit.  They  had  quantities 
of  silk  unfolded  for  their  inspection,  and  chose  what  suited  them  ; 
but  they  could  not  agree  upon  the  price,  for  Jacques  haggled  on 
purpose,  because  his  mistress’s  mother  did  not  make  her  ap¬ 
pearance.  At  last  they  left  the  place  without  making  any  pur¬ 
chase,  and  went  to  look  elsewhere  ;  but  Jacques  could  see 
nothing  he  liked  in  any  house  but  his  mistress’s,  and  they  re¬ 
turned  thither  some  time  afterwards.  Frangoise’s  mother  was 
there,  and  gave  them  the  best  possible  reception.  After  the  little 
ceremonies  were  gone  through  which  are  practised  in  such  shops, 
the  mercer’s  wife  putting  a  higher  price  on  her  goods  than  her 
husband  had  done,  “  You  are  very  hard,  madam,”  said  Jacques  ; 
“  but  I  see  how  it  is.  Father  is  dead,  and  our  friends  don’t 
know  us  now.”  So  saying,  he  pretended  to  wipe  his  eyes,  as  if 
the  thought  of  his  father  had  drawn  tears  from  them  ;  but  this 
was  only  a  device  to  help  things  forward.  His  mother,  who 
took  the  matter  up  in  perfect  good  faith,  said  thereupon,  in  a 
dolorous  tone,  “Since  the  death  of  my  poor  good  man,  we  are 
visited  no  more  than  if  we  had  never  been  known.  Little  do 
people  care  for  poor  widows.” 

Hereupon  there  ensued  new  demonstrations  of  friendship,  and 
mutual  promises  to  visit  more  frequently  than  ever.  Some  other 
merchants  now  came  in,  and  were  taken  by  the  mercer  himself 
into  the  back  shop.  The  young  man  took  advantage  of  this 
favourable  moment  to  say  to  his  mother,  “  Madam  was  formerly 
in  the  habit  of  visiting,  on  Saints’  days,  the  holy  places  in  our 
neighbourhood,  especially  the  convents.  If  she  would  take  the 
trouble  sometimes  to  look  in  upon  us  in  passing,  and  take  her 
wine,  she  would  do  us  much  honour  and  pleasure.” 

The  mercer’s  wife,  who  suspected  nothing,  replied  that  for 
more  than  a  fortnight  past  she  had  intended  to  go  into  their 
quarter ;  that  she  would  probably  do  so  on  Sunday,  if  the 
weather  was  fine,  and  would  not  fail  to  call  and  see  the  lady. 
The  conclusion  of  this  affair  was  followed  by  that  of  the  bargain 
for  the  silks  ;  for  it  was  no  time  to  stand  out  for  a  trifle,  and 
risk  losing  such  a  fine  opportunity. 

Things  being  in  this  position,  and  Jacques  considering  that  he 
could  not  bring  his  project  to  bear  without  assistance,  he  resolved 


209 


Nazel  44.]  Fifth  Day. 

to  confide  the  secret  of  it  to  a  trusty  friend.  The  two  took 
such  good  measures  together  that  nothing  remained  but  to  put 
them  in  execution.  Sunday  being  come,  the  mercer’s  wife  and 
her  daughter  failed  not,  on  their  return  from  their  devotions,  to 
call  upon  the  widow,  whom  they  found  chatting  with  one  of  her 
female  neighbours  in  a  gallery  in  the  garden,  whilst  her  daughter 
was  walking  about  the  alleys  with  her  brother  and  his  friend, 
whose  name  was  Olivier.  On  seeing  his  mistress,  Jacques  so 
commanded  his  face,  that  not  the  least  change  was  visible  in  it, 
and  he  went  to  welcome  the  mother  and  daughter  with  a  gay 
and  unembarrassed  air.  As  elderly  people  usually  seek  each 
other’s  society,  the  three  old  ladies  seated  themselves  on  a  bench 
with  their  backs  turned  to  the  garden,  into  which  the  two  lovers 
gradually  moved  off,  and  joined  the  other  two  who  were  walking 
there.  After  a  little  exchange  of  compliments,  all  four  renewed 
their  promenade,  in  the  course  of  which  Jacques  recounted  his 
piteous  case  to  Frangoise  so  movingly  that  she  could  neither 
grant  nor  refuse  what  her  lover  sued  for.  It  needed  no  more  to 
make  him  aware  that  she  was  smitten. 

I  must  tell  you  that  during  this  ambulatory  conversation,  in 
order  to  prevent  suspicion,  they  frequently  passed  to  and  fro 
before  the  bench  on  which  the  good  women  were  seated,  taking 
care  always  to  talk  of  trivial  and  indifferent  matters,  and  now 
and  then  romping  in  the  garden.  After  the  old  ladies  had  been 
accustomed  to  the  noise  for  htUf  an  hour,  Jacques  made  a  sign 
to  Olivier,  who  played  his  part  with  the  other  girl  so  well,  that 
she  did  not  notice  the  two  lovers  going  into  an  orchard  full  of 
cherries,  and  inclosed  with  thick  hedges  of  roses  and  very  tall 
gooseberry-bushes.  They  pretended  to  go  into  a  corner  of  the 
orchard  to  pluck  almonds,  but  it  was  to  pluck  prunes.  There 
Jacques,  instead  of  giving  his  mistress  a  green  gown,  gave  her  a 
red  one,  for  the  colour  flushed  into  her  cheeks  to  find  herself 
surprised  before  she  was  aware.  They  had  so  quickly  gathered 
their  prunes,  because  they  were  ripe,  that  Olivier  could  not  have 
believed  it,  but  that  the  girl  drooped  her  head,  and  looked  so 
ashamed.  This  betokened  the  truth  to  him,  for  before  she 
walked  with  her  head  erect,  without  any  fear  that  the  vein  in  her 
eye,  which  ought  to  be  red,  should  be  seen  to  have  the  azure  hue. 
Perceiving  her  confusion,  Jacques  recalled  her  to  her  usual 
deportment  by  suitable  remonstrances. 

The  lovers  took  two  or  three  more  turns  about  the  garden, 
but  not  without  much  crying  and  sobbing  on  the  part  of  the  fair 
one  *•  Alas  !”  she  exclaimed,  “was  it  for  this  you  loved  me? 


270  The  Heptameicn  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

If  I  could  have  thought  it,  my  God  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am 
undone  for  ever.  What  account  will  you  make  of  me  henceforth, 
at  least  if  you  are  one  of  those  who  love  only  for  pleasure  ?  Oh, 
that  I  had  died  before  committing  such  a  fault  !”  Then  followed 
another  violent  burst  of  tears.  But  Jacques  exerted  himself  so 
much  to  console  her,  and  made  such  promises,  confirmed  by  so 
many  oaths,  that  before  they  had  taken  three  more  turns  about 
the  garden,  Jacques  made  another  sign  to  his  friend,  and  they 
entered  the  orchard  again  by  another  path.  In  spite  of  all  she 
could  do,  she  could  not  help  receiving  more  pleasure  from  this 
second  green  gown  than  from  the  first.  In  short,  she  liked  it  so 
well  that  they  resolved  then  and  there  to  seek  means  for  meeting 
oftener  and  more  commodiously,  until  such  time  as  her  father 
should  be  more  favourably  inclined. 

A  young  woman,  a  neighbour  of  the  mercer’s,  distantly  related 
to  Jacques,  and  a  good  friend  to  Frangoise,  was  of  great  help  to 
them  in  bringing  the  good  man  to  reason.  I  am  informed  that 
they  continued  their  intrigue  witnout  discovery  or  scandal  until 
the  consummation  of  their  marriage.  Frangoise,  who  was  an 
only  child,  proved  to  be  very  rich  for  the  daughter  of  a  shop¬ 
keeper.  It  is  true  that  Jacques  had  to  wait  for  the  greater  part 
of  his  wife’s  fortune  until  the  death  of  the  father,  who  was  so 
close-fisted  and  distrustful  that  what  he  held  in  one  hand  he 
imagined  the  other  stole  from  him. 

There,  ladies,  you  have  an  example  of  a  tender  connection 
well  begun,  well  continued,  and  better  ended  :  for  although  it  is 
usual  with  men  to  despise  a  woman  or  a  girl  as  soon  as  she  has 
given  you  what  you  sue  to  her  for  with  most  eagerness,  yet  this 
young  man,  loving  well  and  in  good  faith,  and  having  found  in 
his  mistress  what  every  husband  desires  to  find  in  his  bride  ; 
knowing,  moreover,  that  the  girl  was  of  good  family,  and  correct 
in  all  but  the  fault  into  which  he  himself  had  led  her,  would  not 
commit  adultery  elsewhere,  or  trouble  the  peace  of  another 
household  :  conduct  for  which  I  deem  him  highly  commendable. 

“  They  were  both  very  blameable,  however,”  said  Oisille  ; 
“  nor  was  the  friend  even  excusable  for  having  ministered  to  the 
crime,  or  at  least  acquiesced  in  such  a  rape.” 

“  Do  you  call  it  a  rape  when  both  parties  are  willing  ?”  said 
Saffredent.  **  Are  there  any  better  marriages  than  those  which 
are  thus  brought  about  by  furtive  amours  ?  It  has  passed  into  a 
proverb  that  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  ;  but  this  applies 
neither  to  forced  marriages  nor  to  those  which  are  made  for 


Novel 44.]  .Fifth  Day.  £ji 

money,  and  which  are  regarded  as  well  and  duly  approved  as 
soon  as  the  father  and  mother  have  given  their  consent.” 

‘‘You  may  say  what  you  please,”  replied  Oisille,  “  but  parental 
authority  must  be  obeyed,  and  if  there  be  no  father  or  mother, 
the  will  of  the  other  relations  must  be  respected.  Otherwise,  if 
everyone  was  free  to  marry  according  to  fancy,  how  many  cor- 
nuted  marriages  would  there  not  be  ?  Can  anyone  imagine  that 
a  young  man  and  a  girl  from  twelve  to  fifteen  years  of  age  know 
what  is  good  for  them  ?  Anyone  who  should  carefully  examine 
would  find  that  there  are  as  many  unhappy  marriages  among 
those  made  for  love  as  those  made  by  constraint.  Young  people 
who  do  not  know  what  they  want  take  the  first  they  meet  with¬ 
out  inquiry  ;  and  then,  when  they  come  gradually  to  know  the 
mistake  they  have  committed,  this  knowledge  leads  them  into 
still  greater  errors.  Those,  on  the  contrary,  who  have  not  been 
married  voluntarily,  have  entered  into  that  engagement  by  the 
advice  and  at  the  solicitation  of  persons  who  have  seen  more  and 
possess  more  judgment  than  themselves  :  so  that,  when  they 
come  to  experience  the  good  they  did  not  know,  they  enjoy  it 
much  better,  and  embrace  it  with  much  more  affection.” 

“Ay,  madam,”  said  Hircan,  “but  you  forget  that  the  girl  was 
of  ripe  years  and  marriageable,  and  that  she  knew  the  injustice 
of  her  father,  who  let  her  virginity  grow  musty  for  fear  of 
rubbing  the  rust  off  his  crown  pieces.  Do  you  not  know  that 
nature  is  a  frisky  jade?  She  loved,  she  was  loved,  she  found 
what  she  wanted  ready  to  her  hand,  and  she  might  call  to  mind 
the  old  proverb  :  ‘  She  that  will  not  when  she  may,  when  she 
will  she  shall  have  nay.’  All  these  considerations,  added  to  the 
promptitude  of  the  assailant,  left  her  no  time  to  defend  herself. 
It  has  been  remarked,  too,  that  immediately  afterwards  a  great 
change  was  noticed  in  her  countenance.  This  change  was  the 
result  of  her  dissatisfaction  at  having  had  so  little  time  to  judge 
whether  the  thing  was  good  or  bad  :  accordingly,  she  did  not 
require  very  long  coaxing  to  prevail  on  her  to  make  a  second 
trial.” 

“For  my  part,”  said  Longarine,  “I  should  not  think  her 
excusable  but  for  the  good  faith  of  the  young  man,  who,  acting 
like  an  honest  man,  did  not  forsake  her,  but  took  her  such  as 
he  had  made  her ;  for  which  I  think  him  the  more  deserving 
of  praise,  as  youth  in  these  days  is  very  corrupt.  I  do  not  pre¬ 
tend  for  all  that  to  excuse  his  first  fault,  which  virtually  amounted 
to  rape  with  regard  to  the  daughter,  and  subornation  with  regard 
to  the  mother.” 


*72  7 he  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

“Not  at  all,  not  at  all,”  interrupted  Dagoucin  ;  “ther?  was 
neither  rape  nor  subornation,  but  all  happened  voluntarily,  both 
on  the  part  of  the  mothers,  who  did  not  prevent  it,  though  they 
were  duped,  and  on  that  of  the  girl,  who  liked  it  well,  and  never 
complained.” 

“  All  this,”  said  Parlamente,  “  was  only  the  consequence  of  the 
good-nature  and  simplicity  of  the  mercer’s  wife,  who  in  good 
faith  led  her  daughter  to  the  butchery  without  knowing  it.” 

“Why  not  say  to  the  wedding?”  said  Simontault,  “since 
this  simplicity  was  not  less  advantageous  to  the  girl  than  it  was 
prejudicial  to  a  wife  who  was  too  easily  the  dupe  of  her 
husband.” 

“Since  you  know  the  story,”  said  Nomerfide,  “tell  it  us.” 

“  With  all  my  heart,”  replied  Simontault,  “  on  condition  that 
you  promise  me  not  to  weep.  Those  who  say,  ladies,  that  you 
have  more  craft  than  men,  would  find  it  hard  to  produce  an 
example  like  that  of  which  I  am  going  to  speak.  I  purpose  to 
exhibit  to  you  not  only  the  great  c^aft  of  a  husband,  but  also  the 
extreme  simplicity  and  good-nature  of  his  wife.” 


NOVEL  XLV. 

A  husband,  giving  the  innocents  to  his  servant  girl,  plays  upon  his  wife’s 

simplicity. 

HERE  was  at  Tours  a  shrewd,  cunning  fellow,  who  was 
upholsterer  to  the  late  Duke  of  Orleans,  son  of  King 
Francis  I.  Though  this  upholsterer  had  become  deaf 
in  consequence  of  a  severe  illness,  he  nevertheless 
retained  the  full  use  of  his  wits,  and  was  so  well  endowed  in 
that  respect  that  there  was  not  a  man  in  his  trade  more  cunring 
than  himself.  As  for  other  matters,  you  shall  see  from  what  I  ara 
about  to  relate  to  you  how  he  contrived  to  acquit  himself.  He 
had  married  a  good  and  honourable  woman,  with  whom  he  lived 
very  peaceably.  He  was  greatly  afraid  of  displeasing  her,  and 
she  also  studied  to  obey  him  in  all  things.  But  for  all  the  great 
affection  the  husband  had  for  his  wife,  he  was  so  charitable  that 
he  often  gave  his  female  neighbours  what  belonged  to  her  ;  but 
this  he  always  did  as  secretly  as  possible.  They  had  a  good  stout 
wench  as  a  servant,  with  whom  the  upholsterer  fell  in  love. 
Fearing,  however,  lest  his  wife  should  perceive  it,  he  affected 
often  to  scold  her.  saying  she  waf  the  laziest  creature  he  had 


Ncvel  45. J  Fifth  Day .  373 

ever  seen  ;  but  that  he  did  not  wonder  at  it,  since  her  mistress 
never  beat  her. 

One  day,  when  they  were  talking  of  giving  the  Innocents,* 
the  upholsterer  said  to  his  wife,  “  It  would  be  a  great  charity  to 
give  them  to  that  lazy  jade  of  yours,  but  it  would  not  do  for  her 
to  receive  them  from  your  hand,  for  it  is  too  weak,  and  your 
heart  is  too  tender.  If  I  were  to  put  my  own  hand  to  the  job,  we 
should  be  better  served  by  her  than  we  are.”  The  poor  woman, 
suspecting  nothing,  begged  that  he  would  perform  the  operation, 
confessing  that  she  had  neither  the  heart  nor  the  strength  to  do 
it.  The  husband  willingly  undertook  the  commission,  and  as  if 
he  intended  to  flog  the  wench  soundly,  he  bought  the  finest  rods 
he  could  procure  ;  and  to  show  that  he  had  no  mind  to  spare  her, 

*  The  learned  Gregory,  in  his  treatise  on  the  Boy  Bishop,  preserved  in  his 
posthumous  works,  observes  that  “it  hath  been  a  custom,  and  yet  is  elsewhere, 
to  whip  up  the  children  upon  Innocents’  Day  morning,  that  the  memorie  of 
Herod’s  murder  of  the  Innocents  might  stick  the  closer,  and  in  a  moderate 
proportion  to  act  over  the  crueltie  again  in  kinae.”  This  custom  is  mentioned 
by  Haspinian,  De  Orig.  Festor.  Christianor.  fol.  160  :  “  Hujus  lanienae  trucu- 
lentissimae  ut  pueri  Christianorum  recordentur,  et  simul  discant  odium,  perse- 
cutionem,  crucem,  exilium,  egestatemque  statim  cum  nato  Christo  incipers, 
virgis  coedi  solent  in  aurora  hujus  diei  adhuc  in  lectulis  jacentes  a  parentibus 
suis.”  That  which  was  at  first  a  serious  parody  of  the  martyrdom  of  Beth¬ 
lehem,  afterwards  degenerated  into  a  jocular  usage,  and  persons  past  the  age  of 
childhood,  young  women  especially,  were  made  to  play  the  part  of  the  Inno¬ 
cents.  It  is  related  that  a  Seigneur  du  Rivau,  taking  leave  of  some  ladies  to 
join  a  hunting-party  at  a  considerable  distance,  heard  one  of  them  whisper  to 
another,  “  We  shall  sleep  at  our  ease,  and  pass  the  Innocents  without  receiving 
them.”  This  put  Du  Rivau  on  his  mettle.  He  kept  his  appointment,  galloped 
back  twenty  leagues  by  night,  arrived  at  the  lady’s  house  at  dawn  on  Innocents' 
Day,  surprised  her  in  bed,  and  used  the  privilege  of  the  season.  “  Vous  saves, " 
says  the  author  of  the  Escraigttes  (  Veil  lees)  Dijonnaises,  “  que  l'on  a  4  Dijon 
cette  peute  coutume  de  fouetter  les  filles  le  jour  des  Innocens,  la  quelle  est 
entretenue  par  les  braves  amoureux,  pour  avoir  occasion  de  donner  quelqae 
chose  aux  estrennes  4  leurs  amoureuses.”  Clement  Marot  has  the  followirg 
epigram  on  this  subject : 

“  Tr6s  chere  sceur,  si  je  savois  oil  couche 
Votre  personne  au  jour  des  Innocents, 

De  bon  matin  j’irois  en  votre  couche 

Veoir  ce  gent  corps  que  j’aime  entre  cinq  cent*. 

Adonc  ma  main  (veu  l’ardeur  que  je  sens) 

Ne  se  pourroit  bonnement  contenter 
De  vous  toucher,  tenir,  taster,  tenter  : 

Et  si  quelqu’un  survenoit  d’aventure, 

Semblant  ferois  de  vous  innocenter, 

Seroit-cc  pas  honneste  couverture  ?  ” 


? 


I 


274  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

he  steeped  them  in  pickle,  so  that  the  poor  woman  felt  more 
compassion  for  her  servant  than  suspicion  of  her  husband. 

Innocents’  Day  being  come,  the  upholsterer  rose  betimes,  went 
to  the  upper  room,  where  the  servant  lay  alone,  and  gave  her  the 
Innocents  in  a  very  different  manner  from  that  he  talked  of  to 
his  wife.  The  servant  fell  a-crying,  but  her  tears  were  of  no 
avail.*  For  fear,  however,  that  his  wife  should  come  up,  he 
began  to  whip  the  bedpost  at  such  a  rate  that  he  made  the  rods 
fly  in  pieces,  and  then  he  carried  them  broken  as  they  were  to 
his  wife.  “  I  think,  my  dear,”  said  he,  showing  them  to  her, 
“  that  your  servant  will  not  soon  forget  the  Innocents.” 

The  upholsterer  having  gone  out  of  doors,  the  servant  went 
and  threw  herself  at  her  mistress’s  feet,  and  complained  that  her 
husband  had  behaved  to  her  in  the  most  shameful  wa>  that  ever 
a  servant  was  treated.  The  good  woman,  imagining  that  she 
spoke  of  the  flogging  she  had  received,  interrupted  her,  and  said, 
“  My  husband  has  done  well,  and  just  as  I  have  been  begging 
him  to  do  this  month  and  more.  If  he  has  made  you  smart  I 
am  very  glad  of  it.  You  may  lay  it  all  to  me.  He  has  not  given 
you  half  as  much  as  he  ought.” 

When  the  girl  perceived  that  her  mistress  approved  of  such 
an  act,  she  concluded  that  it  was  not  such  a  great  sin  as  she 
had  supposed,  seeing  that  a  woman  who  was  considered  so 
virtuous  was  the  cause  of  it  ;  and  so  she  never  ventured  to 
complain  of  it  again.  The  upholsterer,  seeing  that  his  wife  was 
as  glad  to  be  deceived  as  he  was  to  deceive  her,  resolved  fre¬ 
quently  to  give  her  the  same  satisfaction,  and  gained  the  servant’s 
consent  so  well  that  she  cried  no  more  for  getting  the  Innocents. 
He  continued  the  same  course  for  a  long  time  without  his  wife’s 
knowing  anything  of  the  matter,  until  winter  came,  and  there 
was  a  great  fall  of  snow.  As  he  had  given  his  servant  the 
Innocents  in  the  garden  on  the  green  grass,  he  took  a  fancy 
to  give  them  to  her  also  on  the  snow  ;  and  one  morning,  oefore 
anyone  was  awake,  he  took  her  out  into  the  garden  in  her  shift, 
to  make  the  crucifix  on  the  snow.  They  romped  and  pelted 
each  other,  and  among  the  sport  that  of  the  Innocents  was  not 
forgotten.  One  of  the  neighbours,  meanwhile,  had  gone  to  her 
window  to  see  what  sort  of  weather  it  was.  The  window 
looked  right  over  the  upholsterer’s  garden,  and  the  woman  saw 
the  game  of  the  Innocents  that  was  going  on  there,  and  was 
so  shocked  that  she  resolved  to  inform  her  good  gossip,  that 
she  might  no  longer  be  the  dupe  ot  such  a  wicked  husband 
and  vicious  servant.  After  the  upholsterer  had  finished  his  fine 


Novel  45.]  Fifth  Day.  275 

game,  he  looked  round  to  see  if  he  had  been  noticed  by  anyone, 
and  to  his  great  vexation  he  savv  his  neighbour  at  her  window. 
But  as  he  knew  how  to  give  all  sorts  of  colours  to  his  tapestry, 
so  he  thought  he  should  be  able  to  put  such  a  colour  on  this  fact 
that  his  neighbour  would  be  no  less  deceived  than  his  wife. 
No  sooner  had  he  got  to  bed  again  than  he  made  his  wife 
get  up  in  her  shift,  and  took  her  to  the  very  spot  where  he  had 
been  toying  with  the  servant.  He  frolicked  awhile  with  her  at 
snowball  throwing,  as  he  had  done  with  the  servant  ;  next  he 
gave  her  the  Innocents  as  he  had  done  to  the  other  ;  and  then 
they  went  back  to  bed. 

The  next  time  the  upholsterer’s  wife  went  to  mass,  her  neigh¬ 
bour  and  good  triend  failed  not  to  meet  her  there,  and  entreated 
her,  with  very  great  earnestness,  but  without  saying  more,  to 
discharge  her  servant,  who  was  a  good-for-nothing,  dangerous 
creature.  The  upholsterer’s  wife  said  she  would  do  no  such 
thing,  unless  the  other  told  her  why  she  thought  the  wench  so 
good-for-nothing  and  dangerous.  The  neighbour,  thus  pressed, 
stated  at  last  that  she  had  seen  her  one  morning  in  the  garden 
with  her  husband. 

“  It  was  I,  gossip  dearie,”  replied  the  good  woman,  laughing. 

“What!”  cried  the  neighbour.  “Stripped  to  your  shift  in 
the  garden  at  four  o’clock  in  the  morning  !  ” 

“Yes,  gossip,”  said  the  upholsterer’s  wife.  “  In  good  sooth, 
it  was  myself.” 

“They  pelted  each  with  snow,”  continued  the  neighbour, 
“  and  he  played  with  her  teaties  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  as 
familiarly  as  you  please.” 

“Yes,  gossip,  it  was  myself.” 

“  But,  gossip,”  rejoined  the  neighbour,  “  I  saw  them  do  upon 
the  snow  a  thing  that  seems  to  me  neither  decent  nor  proper.” 

“That  may  be,  gossip  dearie,”  replied  the  upholsterer’s  wife  , 
“  but  as  I  told  you  before  and  tell  you  again,  it  was  myself  and 
no  one  else  that  did  all  this  ;  for  my  good  husband  and  I  divert 
ourselves  in  that  way  together.  Don’t  be  shocked,  pray.  You 
knew  that  we  are  bound  to  please  our  husbands.” 

The  end  of  the  matter  was  that  the  neighbour  went  home 
much  more  disposed  to  wish  that  she  had  such  a  husband  than 
to  pity  her  good  friend.  When  the  upholsterer  came  home,  his 
wife  repeated  to  him  the  whole  conversation  she  had  had  with 
her  neighbour.  “  It  is  well  for  you,  my  dear,”  he  replied,  “  that 
you  are  a  good  and  sensible  woman  ;  but  for  that  we  shou'd 
have  been  separated  long  ago.  But  I  trust  that  by  God’s  grace 


I 


27  6  7 he  Heptamercn  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

we  shall  love  each  other  in  time  to  come  as  much  as  we  have 
in  the  par.t,  and  that  to  His  glory,  and  to  our  own  comfort  and 
satisfaction." 

“  Amen,  my  dear,"  said  the  good  woman.  “  I  hope,  too,  that 
you  will  never  find  me  fail  to  do  my  part  towards  maintaining 
the  good  understanding  between  us."* 

One  must  be  very  incredulous,  ladies,  if,  after  hearing  so  true 
a  story,  one  were  of  opinion  that  there  was  as  much  wickedness 
in  you  as  in  men  ;  though,  to  say  the  truth,  without  wronging 
anyone,  one  cannot  help  coming  to  the  conclusion  with  regard 
to  the  man  and  woman  in  question,  that  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  was  good  for  anything. 

“  This  man  was  prodigiously  wicked,"  said  Parlamente  ;  “  for 
on  the  one  hand  he  deceived  his  wife,  and  on  the  other  his 
servant." 

“  You  cannot  have  rightly  understood  the  story,"  said  Hircan  ; 
“for  it  states  that  he  satisfied  them  both  in  one  morning:  a 
great  feat,  considering  the  contrariety  of  their  interests." 

“  In  that  respect,  he  was  doubly  a  knave,”  replied  Parlamente, 
“to  satisfy  the  simplicity  of  the  one  by  a  lie,  and  the  malice  of 
the  other  by  an  act  of  vice.  But  I  am  quite  aware  that  such 
as  these  will  always  be  pardoned  when  they  have  such  judges 
as  you.” 

“I  assure  you,  however,"  rejoined  Hircan,  “that  I  will  never 
undertake  anything  so  great  or  so  difficult,  for  provided  I  satisfy 
you,  my  day  will  not  have  been  ill  employed.” 

“  If  mutual  love  does  not  content  the  heart,"  returned 
Parlamente,  “  all  the  rest  cannot  do  so.” 

“That  is  true,”  said  Simontault.  “I  am  persuaded  there 
is  no  greater  pain  than  to  love  and  not  to  be  loved." 

“  In  order  to  be  loved,”  said  Parlamente,  “one  should  turn  to 

*  Dunlop  thinks  that  this  novel  was  probably  taken  from  the  fabliau  of  some 
Trouveur,  who  had  obtained  it  from  the  East,  as  it  corresponds  with  the  story 
of  the  Shopkeeper’s  Wife  in  Nakshebi’s  Persian  tales,  known  by  the  name  of 
Tooti  Nameh,  or  Tales  of  a  Parrot.  The  Queen  of  Navarre’s  version  of  the 
story  has  been  imitated  by  Lafontaine,  under  the  title  of  La  Servante  Justifi&j, 
He  was  particularly  struck  by  an  exceedingly  comic  reiteration  of  the  phrase, 
“  It  was  I,  gossip,”  in  the  dialogue  between  the  simple-witted  wife  and  her 
neighbour,  and  says  in  his  opening  lines  : 

“  Pour  cetts  fois,  la  Reine  de  Navarre 
D’un  c’etoit  moi  naif  autant  que  rare, 

Entretiendra  dans  ces  vers  le  lectern." 


Novel  46.]  Fifth  Day.  277 

those  who  love  ;  but  very  often  those  women  who  will  not  love 
are  the  most  loved,  and  those  men  love  most  who  are  the  least 
loved.” 

“  That  reminds  me,”  said  Oisille,  “  of  a  tale  which  I  had 
not  intended  to  introduce  among  good  ones.” 

“  Pray  tell  it  us,”  said  Simontault. 

“  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure,”  replied  Oisille. 


NOVEL  XLVI. 

A  sanctimonious  Cordelier  attempts  to  debauch  the  wife  of  a  judge,  ar.d  actually 
ravishes  a  young  lady,  whose  mother  had  foolishly  authorised  him  to  chastise 
her  for  lying  too  late  in  bed. 

N  Angouleme,  where  Count  Charles,  father  of  King 
Francis,  often  resided,  there  was  a  Cordelier  named  De 
Vale,  who  was  esteemed  a  learned  man  and  a  great 
preacher.  One  Advent  he  preached  in  the  town  before 
the  count,  and  was  so  admired  that  those  who  knew  him  eagerly 
invited  him  to  dinner.  Among  these  was  the  Judge  of  Exempts 
of  the  county,  who  had  married  a  handsome  and  virtuous  wife, 
of  whom  the  Cordelier  was  dying  for  love,  though  he  had  not 
the  boldness  to  tell  her  so  ;  she,  however,  perceived  it,  and  held 
him  and  his  passion  in  disdain.  One  day  he  observed  her  going 
up  to  the  garret  all  alone,  and  thinking  to  surprise  her,  he  went 
up  after  her  ;  but  on  hearing  his  steps  she  turned  round,  and 
asked  him  whither  he  was  going.  “  I  am  coming  after  you,”  he 
replied.  “  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you.” 

"  Don’t  come  after  me,  good  father,”  said  the  judge’s  wife, 
“  for  I  do  not  choose  to  talk  with  such  as  you  in  secret,  and  if 
you  come  another  step  higher  you  shall  repent  of  it.” 

The  friar,  seeing  her  alone,  took  no  heed  of  her  words,  and 
ran  up  •  but  she,  being  a  woman  of  spirit,  as  soon  as  he  was  at 
the  top  gave  him  a  kick  in  the  belly,  saying,  “  Down,  down, 
sir,”  and  sent  him  robing  from  the  top  to  the  bottom.  The  poor 
friar  was  so  much  ashamed  of  his  discomfiture  that  he  forgot 
his  hurt,  and  ran  out  of  the  town  as  fast  as  he  could,  for  he  was 
sure  she  would  not  conceal  the  matter  from  her  husband.  No 
more  she  did,  nor  from  the  count  and  countess,  so  that  the 
Cordelier  durst  not  appear  again  in  their  presence. 

To  complete  his  wickedness,  he  went  away  to  the  house  of  a 
lady  who  loved  the  Cordeliers  above  all  other  folk  ;  and  after  he 
had  preached  a  sermon  or  two  before  her,  he  cast  eyes  upon 
her  daughter,  who  was  very  handsome  ;  and  because  she  did  not 


278  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

rise  in  the  morning  to  go  and  hear  his  sermon,  he  often  scolded 
her  before  her  mother,  who  used  to  say,  “  I  wish  to  God,  father, 
she  had  tasted  a  little  of  the  discipline  which  you  and  your 
pious  brethren  administer  to  each  other.”  The  good  father 
vowed  he  would  give  her  some  of  it  if  she  continued  to  be  so  lazy, 
and  the  mother  begged  he  would  do  so.  A  day  or  two  after,  the 
good  father  entered  the  lady’s  room,  and  not  seeing  her  daughter, 
asked  where  she  was.  “She  fears  you  so  little  that  she  is  still 
in  bed,”  replied  the  lady. 

“  Assuredly  it  is  a  very  bad  habit  in  young  people  to  be  so 
lazy,”  replied  the  friar.  “Few  people  make  much  account  of 
the  sin  of  laziness  ;  but  for  my  part  I  esteem  it  one  of  the  most 
dangerous  of  all,  both  for  the  body  and  the  soul  ;  wherefore  you 
should  chastise  her  well  for  it  ;  or,  if  you  will  leave  the  business 
to  me,  I  warrant  I  will  cure  her  of  lying  in  bed  at  an  hour  when 
she  should  be  at  her  devotions.” 

The  poor  lady,  believing  that  he  was  a  good  man,  begged  he 
would  be  pleased  to  correct  her  daughter,  which  he  proceeded  to 
do  forthwith.  Going  up  a  little  wooden  staircase,  he  found  the 
girl  all  alone  in  be<l,  fast  asleep,  and  sleeping  as  she  was,  he 
ravished  her.  The  poor  girl,  waking  up,  knew  not  whether  it  was 
a  man  or  a  devil,  and  began  to  scream  as  loud  as  she  could, 
and  cry  for  help  to  her  mother,  who  called  out,  from  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  “  Do  not  spare  her,  sir  ;  give  it  her  again,  and 
chastise  the  naughty  hussey.”  When  the  Cordelier  had  accom¬ 
plished  his  wicked  purpose  he  went  down  to  the  lady,  and  said 
to  her,  with  his  face  all  on  fire,  “  I  think,  madam,  your  daughter 
will  not  forget  the  discipline  I  have  given  her.” 

After  thanking  him  'heartily,  the  mother  went  up  to  her  daughter, 
who  was  making  such  lamentation  as  a  virtuous  woman  well 
might  who  had  been  the  victim  of  such  a  crime  ;  and  when  she 
nad  learned  the  truth,  she  sent  everywhere  to  look  for  the 
Cordelier,  but  he  was  already  far  away,  and  never  afterwards 
was  he  found  in  the  realm  of  France. 

You  see,  ladies,  what  comes  of  giving  such  commissions  to 
persons  who  are  not  fit  to  be  trusted  with  them.  The  correction 
of  men  belongs  to  men,  and  of  women  to  women  ;  for  in 
correcting  men,  women  would  be  as  pitiful  as  men  would  be 
cruel  in  correcting  women. 

“Jesus  !  madam,”  said  Parlamente,  “what  a  wicked  villain  of 
a  Cordelier !  ” 

“Say  rather,”  said  Hircan,  “what  a  silly  fool  of  a  mother, 


Novel  46.]  .  Fifth  Day  279 

who,  cajoled  by  hypocrisy,  allowed  so  much  familiarity  to  one  of 
a  class  of  men  who  ought  never  to  be  seen  but  in  church.” 

“  Truly,”  said  Parlemente,  “  I  own  she  was  one  of  the  silliest 
mothers  that  ever  was  ;  and  if  she  had  been  as  wise  as  the 
judge’s  wife,  she  would  rather  have  made  him  go  down  the  stairs 
than  up  them.  But  your  half-angel  devil  is  the  most  dangerous 
of  all,  and  knows  so  well  how  to  transform  himself  into  an  angel 
of  light  that  one  makes  it  matter  of  conscience  to  suspect  him 
for  what  he  is  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  the  person  who  is  not 
suspicious  deserves  praise.” 

“Nevertheless,”  said  Oisille,  “one  ought  to  suspect  the  evil 
that  is  to  be  avoided  ;  especially  so  should  those  who  have  charge 
of  others  ;  for  it  is  better  to  suspect  mischief  where  it  does  not 
exist,  than  to  fall  through  foolishly  believing  in  the  harmlessness 
of  that  which  does  exist.  I  have  never  seen  a  woman  deceived 
for  being  slow  to  believe  the  word  of  men,  but  many  a  one  for 
having  too  readily  put  faith  in  lies.  Therefore  I  say  that  the 
mischief  which  may  happen  cannot  be  too  much  suspected  by 
those  who  have  charge  of  men,  women,  towns,  and  states  ; 
for,  in  spite  of  the  best  watch,  wickedness  and  treachery  greatly 
prevail,  and  the  shepherd  who  is  not  vigilant  will  always  suffer 
from  the  wiles  of  the  wolf.” 

“  Nevertheless,”  said  Dagoucin,  “  a  suspicious  person  cannot 
maintain  a  perfect  friendship,  and  many  friends  have  been  parted 
by  a  suspicion.” 

“Supposing  that  you  know  a  case  in  point,”  said  Oisille,  “I 
call  upon  you  to  relate  it.” 

“  I  know  one  so  true  that  you  will  take  pleasure  in  hearing  it,” 
replied  Dagoucin.  “  I  will  tell  you  what  is  most  sure  to  break 
friendship,  ladies,  and  that  is,  when  the  very  confidence  of  the 
friendship  begins  to  give  occasion  for  suspicion  ;  for  as  trusting 
a  friend  is  the  greatest  honour  one  can  do  him,  so  doubting  him 
is  the  greatest  dishonour,  for  it  shows  that  he  is  thought  other 
than  one  would  have  him  be,  which  is  the  cause  of  breaking 
many  friendships  and  turning  friends  into  enemies,  as  you  will 
see  by  the  tale  I  am  about  to  relate  to  you.” 

[This  novel  is  wanting  in  the  edition  of  1558,  and  the  following  is  substituted 
for  it  in  that  of  *359.] 


280  The  Hef  tamer on  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

A  Cordelier’s  sermons  on  the  subject  of  husbands  beating  thetr  wrves. 


N  Angouleme,  where  Count  Charles,  father  of  King 
Francis  I.,  often  made  his  residence,  there  was  a 
Cordelier  named  De  Valles,  a  man  of  knowledge,  and 
so  esteemed  as  a  preacher  that  he  w'as  selected  to 
preach  the  Advent  sermons  before  the  count,  a  fact  which  still 
further  enhanced  his  reputation.  It  happened  during  Advent 
that  a  young  scatterbrain  of  the  town,  who  had  married  a  young 
and  very  pretty  woman,  Continued  to  run  after  other  women  right 
and  left,  just  as  dissolutely  as  though  he  were  unmarried  The 
young  wife,  discovering  this,  could  not  conceal  her  resentment, 
and  was  often  paid  for  it  sooner  and  otherwise  than  she  would 
have  liked.  All  this  did  not  hinder  her  from  continuing  her 
lamentations,  and  sometimes  even  from  proceeding  to  abuse  and 
railing,  by  which  conduct  she  so  exasperated  her  husband  that  he 
beat  her  black  and  blue,  and  then  she  made  more  noise  than 
ever.  The  neighbours’  wives,  who  knew  the  cause  of  their 
quarrels,  could  not  keep  silence,  but  cried  out  publicly  in  the 
streets,  “  Fie  for  shame  !  To  the  devil  with  such  husbands  !  ” 

By  good  luck  the  Cordelier  de  Valles  was  passing  that  way. 
Having  heard  the  noise,  and  learned  the  cause  of  it,  he  resolved 
to  touch  upon  it  next  day  in  his  sermon  ;  and  so  he  did,  bringing 
in  the  subject  of  marriage,  and  the  affections  which  ought  to 
accompany  it.  He  pronounced  a  eulogy  on  the  wedded  state, 
strongly  censured  those  who  violated  its  duties,  and  instituted  a 
comparison  between  conjugal  and  parental  love.  Among  other 
things,  he  said  that  a  husband  was  more  to  be  condemned  for 
beating  his  wife  than  for  beating  his  father  or  mother ;  “For,” 
said  he,  “  if  you  beat  your  father  or  mother,  you  will  be  sent  for 
penance  to  Rome  ;  but  if  you  beat  your  wife,  she  and  her  female 
neighbours  will  send  you  to  all  the  devils,  that  is  to  say,  to  hell. 
Now  just  see  the  difference  there  is  between  these  two  penances. 
One  usually  comes  back  from  Rome  ;  but  from  hell  there  is  no 
returning.  Nulla  est  redemption 

Subsequently  he  was  informed  that  the  women  took  advantage 
of  what  he  had  said,  and  that  their  husbands  could  no  longer  be 
masters  :  and  this  mischief  he  desired  to  remedy,  as  he  had  that 
under  which  the  women  had  laboured.  To  this  end,  in  another 
sermon  he  compared  women  to  devils,  and  said  that  the  two  were 
man’s  greatest  enemies  and  perpetual  persecutors,  which  he  could 
not  get  rid  of,  especially  women.  “In  fact,”  said  he,  “the 
devils  fly  when  they  are  shown  the  cross,  and  women  do  quite  the 


281 


Novel  46.]  Fifth  Day . 

contrary,  for  it  is  that  which  tames  them,  makes  them  go  and 
come,  and  is  the  cause  of  their  putting  their  husbands  into  no 
end  of  passions.  Would  you  know,  my  good  people,”  said  he 
to  the  husbands,  “  the  way  this  is  to  be  remedied  ?  Here  it 
is.  When  you  see  that  your  wives  torment  you  incessantly,  as  is 
their  wont,  take  the  handle  of  the  cross,  and  thrash  them  well 
with  it.  You  will  not  have  done  this  above  three  or  four  times 
before  you  will  find  yourselves  the  better  for  it,  and  will  see 
that  as  the  devil  is  driven  away  by  the  cross,  so  you  will  drive 
your  wives  away,  and  make  them  hold  their  tongues,  by  virtue  of 
the  handle  of  the  same  cross,  provided  it  be  not  attached.” 

There,  ladies,  is  a  sample  of  the  sermons  of  the  venerable 
Cordelier  de  Valles,  of  whose  life  I  will  tell  you  no  more,  and 
for  good  reason.  I  will  only  say  that  for  all  he  put  a  good  face 
on  the  matter,  for  I  knew  the  man,  he  was  much  more  for  the 
women  than  the  men. 

“  He  gave  a  very  bad  proof  of  that  in  this  last  sermon  of  his,” 
said  Parlamente,  “since  he  instructed  the  men  to  maltreat  them  ” 

“You  do  not  discern  his  cunning,”  said  Hircan.  “  As  you  have 
not  much  experience  of  war,  you  cannot  be  acquainted  with  the 
stratagems  that  are  necessary  in  it,  one  of  the  greatest  of  which 
is  to  create  division  in  the  enemy’s  camp  ;  for  then  he  is  more 
easiiy  beaten.  Just  so  Master  Monk  knew  that  aversion  and 
angerbe  tween  husband  and  wife  often  occasion  a  loose  rein  to 
be  given  to  female  honour.  As  virtue  is  the  guard  of  that 
honour,  it  finds  itself  under  the  fangs  of  the  wolf  before  it 
is  aware  that  it  is  gone  astray.” 

“  Be  that  as  it  may,”  said  Parlamente,  “  I  could  never  love 
a  man  who  had  sown  discord  between  my  husband  and  me 
to  the  extent  of  coming  to  blows  ;  for  with  beating  there  is 
an  end  to  love.  Yet  they  can  be  so  very  demure,  as  I  have  heard, 
when  they  want  to  cajole  some  woman  or  another,  and  talk  in  so 
engaging  a  manner,  that  I  am  sure  there  would  be  more  danger 
in  listening  to  them  in  secret  than  in  publicly  receiving  blows 
from  a  husband  who  in  other  respects  was  a  good  one.” 

“In  truth,”  said  Dagoucin,  “  they  have  made  themselves  so 
notorious  that  one  has  good  cause  to  fear  them,  though,  in  my 
opinion,  it  is  a  laudable  thing  not  to  be  suspicious.” 

“  One  ought,  however,  to  suspect  the  evil  that  may  be  avoided,” 
said  Oisille,  “  and  it  is  better  to  fear  an  imaginary  ill  than  to  fall 
into  a  real  one  for  want  of  belief.  For  my  part,  I  have  never 
known  a  woman  to  have  been  beguiled  for  having  been  slow  to 


282  The  Ideptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

believe  men  ;  but  I  have  known  many  a  one  who  has  been 
beguiled  for  too  easily  believing  their  falsehoods.  Consequently 
I  maintain  that  those  who  have  charge  of  men,  women,  towns 
and  states,  can  never  too  much  fear  and  suspect  the  evil  that 
may  happen.  Wickedness  and  treachery  are  so  much  in  vogue 
that  one  cannot  be  too  much  on  one’s  guard  :  and  the  shepherd 
who  is  not  vigilant  will  always  be  plundered  by  the  sly  and 
crafty  wolf.” 

“It  is  nevertheless  true,”  observed  Dagoucin,  “that  a  dis¬ 
trustful  and  suspicious  person  can  never  be  a  perfect  friend  ;  and 
many  friendships  have  been  broken  upon  a  mere  suspicion.” 

“  If  you  know  any  example  in  point,  tell  it  us,”  said  Oisille. 

“  I  know  one,”  he  replied,  “  so  true,  that  you  will  feel  pleasure 
in  hearing  it.  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  ladies,  of  what  most  easily 
breaks  friendship,  and  that  is,  when  the  very  security  of  the 
friendship  itself  begins  to  inspire  suspicion.  As  one  cannot  do 
a  friend  a  greater  honour  than  to  trust  in  him,  so  likewise  one 
cannot  offer  him  a  keener  insult  than  to  distrust  him.  The 
reason  is,  that  one  thereby  shows  that  one  believes  him  to  be 
quite  different  from  what  one  would  have  him  to  be ;  and  this 
causes  a  breach  between  many  good  friends,  and  makes  them 
enemies,  an  instance  of  which  you  shall  see  in  the  tale  I  am  about 
to  tell  you.” 


NOVEL  XLVII. 

A  gentleman  of  the  Pays  du  Perche,  distrusting  his  friend,  obliges  him  to  do 
him  the  mischief  of  which  he  has  falsely  suspected  him. 

EAR  the  Pays  du  Perche  there  were  two  gentlemen, 
who  from  their  childhood  had  been  such  perfectly  good 
friends  that  they  had  but  one  heart,  one  house,  one 
bed,  one  table,  and  one  purse.  Their  perfect  friendship 
lasted  a  long  while  without  there  having  ever  been  the  least 
dispute,  or  even  a  word  that  savoured  of  it ;  for  they  lived,  not 
merely  like  two  brothers,  but  like  one  man.  One  of  the  two 
married,  but  this  did  not  diminish  his  affection  for  the  other,  oi 
prevent  his  continuing  to  live  with  him  as  happily  as  before. 
When  they  happened  to  be  in  any  place  where  beds  were  scarce 
he  made  him  sleep  with  his  wife  and  him.  It  is  true  that  he 
himself  lay  in  the  middle.  All  their  goods  were  in  common,  so 
that  the  marriage,  whatever  might  happen,  never  altered  this 
perfect  friendship. 

But  as  there  is  nothing  solid  and  permanent  in  this  world,  time 


Novel  47.]  Fifth  Day.  283 

brought  about  a  change  in  the  felicity  of  a  too  happy  household. 
The  husband,  forgetting  the  confidence  he  had  in  his  friend,  be¬ 
came  jealous  without  cause  of  him  and  his  wife,  to  whom  he 
could  not  refrain  from  saying  some  harsh  things,  whereat  she 
was  the  more  surprised,  as  he  had  ordered  her  to  treat  his  friend 
in  all  respects,  srve  one,  exactly  like  himself.  All  this,  however, 
did  not  hinder  him  from  forbidding  her  to  speak  to  him,  unless 
it  was  in  full  company.  She  made  known  this  prohibition  to  her 
husband’s  friend,  who  could  not  believe  it,  well  knowing  that  he  had 
n:t  done  or  thought  anything  with  which  his  friend  could  be  dis¬ 
pleased.  As  he  was  accustomed  to  conceal  nothing  from  him, 
he  told  him  what  he  had  heard,  begging  him  to  disguise  nothing, 
for  it  was  his  earnest  desire  not  to  give  him,  either  in  that  or  in 
any  other  matter,  the  least  cause  to  break  a  friendship  of  such 
long  duration. 

The  husband  assured  him  he  had  never  harboured  such  a 
thought,  and  that  those  who  had  spread  this  report  had  foully 
lied.  “I  know  well,”  said  the  friend,  “that  jealousy  is  a  passion 
as  insupportable  as  love  ;  and  though  you  were  jealous,  and  even 
of  me,  I  should  not  be  angry  with  you,  for  you  could  not  help  it. 
But  I  should  have  reason  to  complain  of  a  thing  which  it 
is  in  your  own  power  to  do  or  not  to  do,  and  that  is,  to  conceal 
the  matter  from  me,  seeing  that  you  have  never  yet  concealed 
from  me  any  opinion  or  emotion  you  have  known.  On  my  part, 
if  I  were  in  love  with  your  wife,  you  ought  not  to  make  it 
a  crime  in  me,  for  love  is  a  fire  which  no  one  can  master ;  but  if 
I  concealed  the  fact  from  you,  and  sought  means  to  make  it 
known  to  your  wife,  I  should  be  the  worst  man  that  ever  lived. 
Besides,  though  you  have  a  good  wife  and  a  worthy,  1  can  assure 
you  that,  even  though  she  were  not  yours,  she  is,  of  all  the  women 
I  have  ever  seen,  the  one  I  should  give  myself  the  least  concern 
about.  I  pray  you,  however,  if  you  have  the  least  suspicion,  to 
tell  me  so,  in  order  to  take  measures  accordingly,  so  that  our  long 
friendship  may  not  be  broken  for  the  sake  of  a  woman  ;  for  even 
if  I  loved  your  wife  above  all  the  women  in  the  world,  I  would 
never  speak  to  her  in  that  case,  because  1  prefer  your  friendship 
to  any  other.” 

The  husband  protested  to  him  with  great  oaths  that  he  never 
had  such  a  thought,  and  begged  that  he  would  continue  with 
him  in  all  respects  upon  the  old  footing.  “  I  will  do  so,  since  you 
desire  it,”  replied  the  friend  ;  “but  allow  me  to  tell  you  that  I 
never  will  live  with  you  if,  after  this,  you  have  such  a  thought 
of  me,  and  keep  a  secret  from  me,  or  take  it  amiss.” 


K  84  The  Heptameron  op  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

They  continued  then  to  live  together  on  the  same  terms  as 
before,  until,  after  some  time,  the  husband  s  jealous  lit  came  upon 
him  more  strongly  than  ever,  and  he  ordered  his  wife  no  longer 
to  show  his  friend  the  same  fair  countenance.  She  immediately 
informed  the  friend  of  this,  and  begged  him  not  to  speak  to  her, 
as  she  was  forbidden  to  speak  to  him.  The  friend,  seeing  from 
this  and  from  certain  grimaces  of  his  comrade  that  he  had  not 
kept  his  word,  said  to  him,  in  great  indignation,  “  If  you  are 
jealous,  my  friend,  that  is  a  natural  thing  ;  but,  after  the  oaths 
you  have  sworn  to  me,  I  cannot  help  telling  you  that  I  am 
aggrieved  by  your  having  concealed  it  so  long.  1  had  always 
believed  that  between  your  heart  and  mine  there  was  no  medium 
or  obstacle  ;  but  I  see  with  regret,  and  without  any  fault  of  mine, 
that  I  have  not  succeeded  so  well  as  1  had  hoped,  since  not  only 
are  you  jealous  of  your  wife  and  me,  but  you  furthermore  want 
to  make  a  mystery  of  it,  in  order  that  your  malady  may  endure 
so  long  that  it  may  turn  into  hatred,  and  the  closest  friendship 
which  has  been  seen  in  our  day  be  succeeded  by  the  most  mortal 
enmity.  1  have  done  what  I  could  to  prevent  this  mischief,  but 
since  you  believe  me  to  be  so  wicked,  and  the  reverse  of  all  I 
have  ever  been,  I  solemnly  vow  to  you  that  I  will  be  such  as  you 
take  me  to  be,  and  that  I  will  never  rest  until  I  have  had  from 
your  wife  what  you  imagine  I  am  striving  for;  and  I  warn  you 
henceforth  to  be  on  your  guard  against  me.  Since  suspicion  has 
made  you  renounce  my  friendship,  resentment  makes  me  renounce 
yours.” 

The  husband  tried  to  make  him  believe  that  it  was  all  a  mis¬ 
take,  but  the  other  would  not  listen  to  him.  The  furniture  and 
property  they  had  in  common  were  divided,  and  this  division  was 
accompanied  by  that  of  their  hearts,  which  had  always  been  so 
united.  The  unmarried  gentleman  kept  his  word,  and  never 
rested  until  he  had  made  his  friend  a  cuckold. 

So  be  it,  ladies,  to  all  those  who  distrust  their  wives  without 
cause.  A  woman  of  honour  sooner  suffers  herself  to  be  overcome 
by  despair  than  by  all  the  pleasures  in  the  world,  and  many 
husbands  who  are  unjustly  jealous  behave  so  that  at  last  they 
have  just  cause  for  jealousy,  and  make  their  wives  do  what  they 
suspect  them  of.  Some  say  that  jealousy  is  love  :  1  deny  it  ;  for 
though  it  issues  from  love  as  ashes  from  fire,  just  so  it  kills  it, 
just  as  ashes  smother  the  flame. 

“  I  am  persuaded,”  said  Hircan,  “that  there  is  nothing  more 
irritating  to  man  or  woman  than  to  be  unjustly  suspected.  For 


Novel  47  |  Fifth  Day.  285 

my  own  part,  there  is  nothing  would  sooner  make  me  break  with 
my  friends.” 

"  Yet  it  is  not  a  reasonable  excuse,”  said  Oisille,  “  for  a  woman 
to  say  she  revenges  herself  for  her  husband’s  suspicions  at  the 
cost  of  her  own  shame  ;  it  is  doing  like  a  man  who,  not  being 
able  to  kill  his  enemy,  runs  himself  through  with  his  own  sword, 
or  bites  his  own  fingers  when  he  cannot  scratch  him.  She  would 
have  acted  more  wisely  in  never  speaking  to  the  friend,  in  order 
to  show  her  husband  that  he  was  wrong  in  suspecting  her,  for 
time  would  have  reconciled  them.” 

“She  acted  like  a  woman  of  spirit,”  said  Ennasuite  ;  “and  if 
there  were  many  wives  like  her,  their  husbands  would  not  be  so 
outrageous.” 

“  After  all,”  said  Longarine,  “  patience  finally  enables  a  chaste 
woman  to  triumph,  and  by  it  she  should  abide.” 

“  A  woman,  however,  may  be  sinless,  and  yet  not  chaste,” 
observed  Ennasuite. 

“  How  do  you  mean  ?”  asked  Oisille. 

“When  she  mistakes  another  for  her  husband,”  replied  Enna¬ 
suite. 

“  And  where  is  the  fool,”  exclaimed  Parlamente,  “  who  does 
not  know  the  difference  between  her  husband  and  another  man, 
disguise  himself  as  he  may  ?  ” 

“  There  have  been,  dnd  there  will  be,”  rejoined  Ennasuite, 
“  those  who  have  made  such  a  mistake  in  perfect  good  faith,  and 
who  consequently  are  not  culpable.” 

“  If  you  know  an  instance  of  the  kind,  relate  it  to  us,”  said 
Dagoucin  ;  “  to  me  it  seems  that  innocence  and  sin  are  two  very 
incompatible  things.” 

“Well,  ladies,”  said  Ennasuite,  “if  the  stories  you  have  al¬ 
ready  heard  have  not  sufficiently  shown  you  that  it  is  dangerous 
to  lodge  those  who  call  us  mundane,  and  look  upon  themselves 
as  saints,  and  as  persons  much  more  regenerate  than  we  are, 
here  is  a  tale  which  will  convince  you  not  only  that  they  are  men 
like  others,  but  that  they  have  in  them  something  diabolical  ex¬ 
ceeding  the  common  wickedness  of  men.** 


286  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 

NOVEL  XLVIII. 

A  Cordelier  took  the  husband’s  place  on  his  wedding-night,  while  the  latter  was 

dancing  with  the  bridal  party. 

GIRL  having  been  married  in  a  village  in  Perigord, 
the  wedding  was  celebrated  at  an  inn,  where  all  the 
relations  and  friends  made  merry  with  the  best  cheer. 
Two  Cordeliers  arrived  on  the  wedding-day,  and  as  it 
was  not  in  accordance  with  propriety  that  they  should  be  present 
at  the  marriage-feast,  they  had  their  suppers  served  up  to  them 
in  their  chamber.  That  one  of  the  pair  who  had  the  most 
authority,  and  also  the  most  villany,  conceived  that  since  he  was 
not  allowed  to  partake  with  the  rest  at  board  he  ought  to  have 
his  share  in  bed,  and  resolved  to  show  them  a  trick  of  his  trade. 

When  evening  came,  and  the  dance  was  begun,  the  Cordelier 
gazed  long  on  the  bride  from  the  window,  and  found  her  hand¬ 
some  and  much  to  his  taste.  He  inquired  of  the  servant  girls 
which  was  the  bridal-chamber,  and  learned,  to  his  great  satis¬ 
faction,  that  it  was  close  to  his  own  ;  and  then,  in  order  to  ar¬ 
rive  at  his  ends,  he  took  care  to  watch  well  till  he  saw  the  old 
women  steal  off  with  the  bride,  as  usual  on  such  occasions.  As 
it  was  still  early,  the  husband  would  not  quit  the  dance,  on  which 
he  was  so  intent  that  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  bride, 
which  the  Cordelier  had  not  done  ;  for  as  soon  as  his  ears  in¬ 
formed  him  that  she  had  been  put  to  bed,  he  threw  off  his  grey 
robe,  and  went  and  took  the  bridegroom’s  place.  The  fear  of 
being  surprised  did  not  allow  him  to  remain  there  long.  He  rose, 
therefore,  and  went  to  the  end  of  an  alley,  where  his  companion, 
whom  he  had  left  on  the  watchj  signalled  to  him  that  the  bride¬ 
groom  was  still  dancing.  The  Cordelier,  who  had  not  satisfied 
his  wicked  lust,  then  went  back  to  the  bride,  and  stayed  with  her 
until  his  companion  made  the  signal  that  it  was  time  to  go  away. 

The  bridegroom  went  to  bed,  and  the  bride,  who  had  been  so 
briskly  plied  by  the  Cordelier,  and  wanted  nothing  but  rest,  could 
not  help  saying  to  her  husband,  “  Have  you  made  up  your  mind 
never  to  go  to  sleep,  but  to  worry  me  all  night  long  ?  ”  The 
poor  husband,  who  had  but  just  lain  down,  asked  her  in  great 
amazement  how  he  had  worried  her,  seeing  that  he  had  been 
dancing  all  the  evening.  “  Fine  dancing,  indeed,”  said  the  poor 
woman  ;  “  this  is  the  third  time  you  have  come  to  bed.  You 
had  better  go  to  sleep,  I  think.” 

Astounded  at  these  words,  the  husband  insisted  on  knowing 
the  exact  truth.  After  she  had  related  to  him  the  whole  thing 


Novel  48.]  Fifth  Day .  287 

just  as  it  had  occurred,  he  got  up  instantly,  making  no  doubt 
it  was  the  Cordeliers,  and  went  to  their  chamber,  which,  as 
before  mentioned,  was  not  far  from  his  own.  Not  finding 
them,  he  shouted  for  help  so  loud  that  all  his  friends  came 
docking  round  him.  When  he  had  told  them  the  fact,  every¬ 
one  helped  him  with  candles,  lanterns,  and  all  the  dogs  in 
the  village  to  hunt  for  the  Cordeliers.  Not  finding  them  in  the 
houses,  they  beat  the  country  round,  and  caught  them  in  the 
vineyards,  where  they  treated  them  as  they  deserved  ;  for  after 
having  well  beaten  them,  they  cut  off  their  legs  and  arms, 
and  left  them  among  the  vines  to  the  care  of  Bacchus  and  Venus, 
of  whom  they  were  better  disciples  than  of  St.  F rands. 

Do  not  be  astonished,  ladies,  if  these  people,  who  are  distin¬ 
guished  by  a  manner  of  living  so  different  from  ours,  do  things 
which  adventurers  would  be  ashamed  to  do.  You  may  rather 
wonder  that  they  do  not  do  worse,  when  God  withdraws  his 
grace  from  them.  The  habit  does  not  always  make  the  monk, 
as  the  proverb  says.  It  often  unmakes  him,  and  pride  is  the 
cause. 

“Mon  Dieu!”  said  Oisille,  “shall  we  never  have  done  with 
tales  about  these  monks  ?  ” 

“If  ladies,  princes,  and  gentlemen  are  not  spared,”  said  Enna- 
suite,  “it  strikes  me  that  they  have  no  reason  to  complain  if  they 
are  not  spared  either.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  so  useless, 
that  no  one  would  ever  mention  them  if  they  did  not  commit 
some  rascality  worthy  of  memory  ;  which  makes  good  the  pro¬ 
verb,  that  it  is  better  to  do  mischief  than  to  do  nothing  at  all. 
Besides,  the  more  diversified  our  bouquet,  the  handsomer  it 
will  be.” 

“  If  you  promise  not  to  be  angry,”  said  Hircan,  “  I  will  tell 
you  a  story  of  a  great  lady  so  insatiable  in  love  that  you  will 
excuse  the  poor  Cordelier  for  having  taken  what  he  wanted 
where  he  found  it,  the  more  so  as  the  lady  of  whom  I  have  to 
speak,  having  plenty  to  eat,  indulged  her  craving  for  tit-bits  in 
a  way  that  was  too  bad.” 

“  Since  we  have  vowed  to  speak  the  truth,”  said  Oisille,  “  we 
have  also  vowed  to  hear  it.  You  may  then  speak  freely  ;  for  the 
evil  we  speak  of  men  and  women  does  not  injure  those  who  are 
the  heroes  of  the  tale,  and  only  serves  to  cure  people  of  the 
esteem  they  have  for  the  creatures,  and  the  confidence  they  might 
repose  in  them,  by  showing  the  faults  to  which  they  are  subject, 
to  the  end  that  we  may  rest  our  hopes  on  none  but  Him  who  is 


I 


288  The  Hep  tamer  on  of  the  Qiieen  of  Navarre. 

alone  perfect,  and  without  whom  every  man  is  but  imperiec- 
tion.” 

“  Well,  then,”  said  Hircan,  “  I  will  proceed  boldly  with  my 
story.” 


NOVEL  XLIX. 

Of  a  countess  who  diverted  herself  adroitly  with  love  sport,  and  how  her  gam* 

was  discovered. 

T  the  court  of  one  of  the  kings  of  France,  named  Charles 
(I  will  not  say  which  of  them,  for  the  honour  of  the 
lady  of  whom  I  am  about  to  speak,  and  whom  I  shall 
also  abstain  from  naming),  there  was  a  foreign  countess 
of  very  good  family.  As  new  things  please,  this  lady  at  once 
attracted  all  eyes,  both  by  the  novelty  of  her  costume,  and  by  its 
richness  and  magnificence.  Though  she  was  not  a  beauty  of  the 
first  order,  she  possessed,  nevertheless,  so  much  grace,  such  a 
lofty  deportment,  and  a  manner  of  speaking  which  inspired  so 
much  respect,  that  no  one  ventured  to  attempt  her,  except  the 
king,  who  was  very  much  in  love  with  her.  That  he  might 
enjoy  her  society  more  freely,  he  gave  the  count  her  husband  a 
commission  which  kept  him  a  long  time  away  from  the  court,  and 
during  that  interval  the  king  diverted  himself  with  the  countess. 

Several  of  the  king’s  gentlemen,  seeing  that  their  master  was 
well  treated  by  the  countess,  took  the  liberty  to  speak  to  her  on 
the  subject ;  among  the  rest,  one  named  Astillon,  an  enterprising 
and  handsome  man.  At  first  she  answered  him  with  great 
dignity,  and  thought  to  frighten  him  by  threatening  to  complain 
to  the  king  his  master,  but  he,  who  was  not  a  man  to  be  moved 
by  the  menaces  of  an  intrepid  captain,  made  light  of  those  which 
the  lady  held  forth,  and  pressed  her  so  closely  that  she  consented 
to  grant  him  a  private  interview,  and  even  told  him  what  he 
should  do  in  order  to  reach  her  chamber  ;  a  lesson  which  he 
failed  neither  to  remember  nor  to  practise.  To  prevent  any 
suspicion  on  the  king’s  part,  he  made  a  pretence  of  a  journey  to 
obtain  leave  of  absence  for  some  days,  and  actually  took  his 
departure  from  the  court,  but  quitted  his  retinue  at  the  first 
stage,  and  returned  at  night  to  receive  the  favours  which  ’he 
countess  had  promised  him.  She  fulfilled  her  promise,  and  he 
was  so  satisfied  with  his  reception  that  he  was  content  to  remain 
seven  or  eight  days  shut  up  in  a  garderobe,  living  on  nothing  bul 
aphrodisiacs. 


Novel  49.]  Fifth  Day.  289 

During  the  time  he  was  thus  confined,  one  of  his  comrades, 
named  Duracier,  came  to  make  love  to  the  countess.  She  went 
through  the  same  ceremonies  with  this  second  wooer  as  with  the 
first:  spoke  to  him  at  first  sternly  and  haughtily,  softened  to  him 
only  by  degrees  ;  and  on  the  day  she  let  the  first  prisoner  go, 
she  put  the  second  into  his  place.  Whilst  he  was  there  a  third 
came,  named  Valbenon,  and  had  the  same  treatment  as  his  two 
predecessors.  After  these  three  came  two  or  three  others,  who 
also  had  part  in  that  sweet  captivity  ;  and  so  it  went  on  for  a 
long  while,  the  intrigue  being  so  nicely  conducted  that  not  one 
of  the  whole  number  knew  anything  of  the  adventures  of  the 
rest.  They  heard  plenty  of  talk,  indeed,  of  the  passion  of  every 
one  of  them  for  the  countess,  but  there  was  not  one  of  them  but 
believed  himself  to  be  the  only  favoured  lover,  and  laughed  in 
his  sleeve  at  his  disappointed  rivals. 

One  day,  all  these  gentlemen  being  met  together  at  an  enter¬ 
tainment,  at  which  they  made  very  good  cheer,  they  began  to 
talk  about  their  adventures,  and  the  prisons  in  which  they  had 
been  during  the  wars.  Valbenon,  who  was  not  the  man  to  keep 
a  secret  which  flattered  his  vanity,  said  to  the  others,  “  I  know 
in  what  prisons  you  have  been  ;  but  as  for  me,  I  have  been  in 
one  for  sake  of  which  I  will  speak  well  of  prisons  in  general  as 
long  as  I  live,  for  I  don’t  believe  there  is  a  pleasure  in  the  world 
equal  to  that  of  being  a  prisoner.” 

Astillon,  who  had  been  the  first  prisoner,  at  once  suspected 
what  prison  he  meant.  “Under  what  gaoler,”  he  asked,  “were 
you  so  well  treated,  that  you  were  so  fond  of  your  prison  ?  ” 

“  Be  the  gaoler  who  he  may,”  replied  Valbenon,  “the  prison 
was  so  agreeable  that  I  was  very  loth  to  leave  it  so  soon,  for  I 
never  was  better  treated  or  more  comfortable  than  there.” 

Duracier,  who  hitherto  had  said  nothing,  shrewdly  suspected 
that  the  prison  in  question  was  that  in  which  he  had  been  con¬ 
fined,  as  well  as  the  other  two.  “  Tell  me,”  said  he  to  Valbenon, 
“what  sort  of  food  did  they  give  you  in  that  same  prison  you 
praise  so  highly  ?” 

“  Food  ?  The  king  has  not  better,  or  more  nutritive,”  was  the 
reply. 

“But  I  should  like  to  know,  too,”  returned  Duracier,  “did  not 
the  person  who  kept  you  prisoner  make  you  earn  your  bread  ?  ” 

“  Hah  !  ventrebleu  !”  cried  Valbenon,  who  saw  that  the  mark 
was  hit.  “  Have  1  had  comrades  ?  I  thought  myself  the  only 
one.” 

Well,”  said  Astillon,  laughing,  “we  are  all  companions  and 

u 


4  I 


290  The  Hfptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

friends  from  our  youth,  and  all  serve  the  same  master.  If  we 
all  share  alike  in  the  same  bonne  fortune ,  we  may  well  laugh  in 
company.  But  in  order  to  know  if  what  I  imagine  is  true,  pray 
let  me  interrogate  you,  and  all  of  you  tell  me  the  truth.  If  what 
I  suppose  has  happened  to  us,  it  is  the  oddest  and  most  amusing 
adventure  that  ever  could  be  imagined.” 

All  swore  they  would  speak  the  truth,  at  least  if  matters  were 
so  that  they  could  not  help  doing  so.  “  I  will  relate  my  adven¬ 
ture  to  you.”  said  Astdlon,  “  and  you  will  each  answer  me  yes 
or  no,  if  yours  is  like  it  or  not.” 

Everyone  having  agreed  to  this,  “  In  the  first  place,”  said 
Astillon,  “  I  asked  leave  of  absence  of  the  king,  under  pretence 
of  a  journey.” 

“  And  so  did  we,”  said  the  others. 

“  When  I  was  two  leagues  from  the  court,  I  left  my  retinue, 
and  went  and  surrendered  myself  a  prisoner.” 

“  And  so  did  we.” 

“  I  remained  for  seven  or  eight  days  hid  in  a  gar derobe,  where 
I  was  fed  upon  nothing  but  restoratives,  and  the  best  viands  I 
ever  tasied.  At  the  end  of  eight  days  my  keepers  let  me  go, 
much  weaker  than  I  had  come.” 

They  all  swore  that  they  had  been  served  just  the  same  way. 

“  My  imprisonment  ended  such  a  day,”  continued  Astillon. 

“  Mine  began  the  very  day  yours  ended,”  said  Duracier,  “and 
1  u-ted  until  such  a  day.” 

Valbenon  now  lost  patience,  and  began  to  swear.  “  By  the 
Lord,”  said  he,  “  I  find  I  was  the  third,  though  I  thought  myself 
the  first  and  the  only  one,  for  I  entered  such  a  day,  and  left  such 
another.” 

The  other  three  who  were  at  table  swore  that  they  had  entered 
and  departed  successively  in  the  same  order. 

“  Since  that  is  the  case,”  said  Astillon,  “  I  will  describe  our 
gaoler.  She  is  married,  and  her  husband  is  away.” 

“  The  very  same,”  said  all  the  others. 

“As  I  was  the  first  enrolled,”  continued  Astillon,  “I  will  be 
the  first  to  name  her,  for  our  common  relief.  She  is  the  countess, 
who  was  so  haughty  that  in  winning  her  I  thought  I  had  done 
as  great  a  feat  as  if  I  had  vanquished  Caesar.  To  the  devil  with 
the  slut,  that  made  us  toil  so  hard,  and  deem  ourselves  so  for¬ 
tunate  in  having  won  her.  There  never  was  a  more  infernal 
woman.  Whilst  she  had  one  of  us  caged  she  was  trapping 
another,  so  that  the  place  might  never  be  vacant  I  would 
rather  die  than  not  have  my  revenge.” 


I 


Novel  49. J  Fifth  Day.  291 

They  all  asked  Duracier  what  he  thought  of  the  matter,  and 
in  what  manner  she  ought  to  be  punished  ;  adding  that  they 
were  ready  to  put  their  hands  to  the  work. 

“  It  strikes  me,”  said  he,  “  that  we  ought  to  tell  the  facts  to 
the  king  our  master,  who  esteems  her  as  a  goddess.” 

“We  will  not  do  that,”  said  Astillon  ;  “we  can  revenge  our¬ 
selves  very  well  without  our  master’s  aid.  Let  us  wait  lor  her 
to-morrow  when  she  goes  to  mass,  every  man  with  an  iron  chain 
round  his  neck,  and  when  she  enters  the  church,  we  will  salute 
her  as  is  fitting.” 

This  suggestion  was  unanimously  approved.  Everyone  pro¬ 
vided  himself  with  a  chain,  and  next  morning,  dressed  all  in 
black,  with  their  chains  round  their  necks,  they  presented  them¬ 
selves  to  the  countess  as  she  was  going  to  church.  When  she 
saw  them  in  that  trim  she  burst  out  laughing,  and  said  to  them, 
“Whither  go  these  people  that  look  in  such  doleful  plight?  ” 

“As  your  poor  captive  slaves,  madam,”  said  Astillon,  “we 
are  come  to  do  you  service.” 

“  You  are  not  my  captives,”  she  replied,  “  and  I  know  no 
reason  why  you  should  be  bound  more  than  others  to  do  me 
service.” 

Valbenon  then  advanced.  We  have  so  long  eaten  your 
bread,  madam,”  he  said,  “that  we  should  be  very  ungrateful  not 
to  do  you  service.” 

She  pretended  not  to  have  the  least  idea  of  what  he  meant, 
and  preserved  an  unruffled  air,  thinking  thereby  to  disconcert 
them  ;  but  they  played  their  parts  so  well  that  she  could  not  but 
be  aware  that  the  thing  was  discovered.  Nevertheless,  she  quite 
baffled  them  ;  for,  as  she  had  lost  honour  and  conscience,  she  did 
not  take  to  herself  the  shame  they  sought  to  put  upon  her  ;  but 
as  one  who  preferred  her  pleasure  to  all  the  honour  in  the  world, 
*he  showed  th^m  no  worse  a  countenance  for  what  they  had 
done,  and  carried  her  head  as  high  as  ever,  whereat  they  were 
50  astounded  that  they  felt  themselves  as  much  ashamed  as  they 
had  meant  to  make  her.* 

*  “  The  adventure  related  by  Margaret  in  this  novel  is  one  of  the  most 
piquant  in  the  whole  Heptameron.  It  would  be  <rery  interesting  to  know  the 
real  names  of  the  persons  concerned.  Brantome  has  not  disclosed  them  ;  he 

only  says  :  ‘I  knew  a  very  great  lady,  a  widow . Although  she 

was  in  a  manner  adored  by  a  very  great  person,  yet  she  could  not  do  without 
some  other  lovers  in  private,  that  she  might  not  lose  any  time,  or  remain  idb. 

I  refer  to  that  lady  in  the  Cent  Nouvelles  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre  who  hai 
three  lovers  at  once,  and  was  so  zlever  that  she  managed  to  entertain  them  n±L 


2()  2  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

If  you  do  not  think,  ladies,  that  this  tale  sufficiently  shows 
that  women  are  as  bad  as  men,  I  will  tell  you  others.  It  strikes 
me,  however,  that  this  one  is  enough  to  show  you  that  a  woman 
who  has  lost  shame  does  evil  a  thousand  times  more  audaciously 
than  a  man. 

There  was  not  a  lady  in  the  company  who,  on  hearing  this  story, 
did  not  make  so  many  signs  of  the  cross,  that  one  would  have 
thought  she  saw  all  the  devils  in  hell. 

“  Let  us  humble,  ourselves,  mesdames,”  said  Oisille,  “at  the 
contemplation  of  such  horrible  conduct,  the  more  so  as  the 
person  abandoned  by  God  becomes  like  him  with  whom  she 
unites.  As  those  who  attach  themselves  to  God  are  animated  by 
his  spirit,  so  those  who  follow  the  devil  are  urged  by  the  spirit 
of  the  devil  ;  and  nothing  can  be  more  brutified  than  those  whom 
God  abandons.” 

“  Whatever  this  poor  lady  did,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  I  cannot 
applaud  those  who  boasted  of  their  prison.” 

“  It  is  my  belief,”  said  Longarine,  “  that  a  man  finds  it  as  hard 
to  keep  his  good  fortune  secret  as  to  pursue  it.  There  is  no 
hunter  who  does  not  take  pleasure  in  blowing  his  horn  over  his 
quarry,  or  lover  who  is  not  very  glad  to  proclaim  the  glory  of  his 
victory.” 

“That  is  an  opinion,”  said  Simontault,  ‘‘which  I  will  main¬ 
tain  to  be  heretical  before  all  the  inquisitors  in  the  world  :  for  1 
lay  it  down  as  a  fact  that  there  are  more  men  than  women  who 
keep  a  secret.  I  know,  indeed,  that  some  might  be  found  who 
would  rather  not  be  so  well  treated  than  that  anyone  in  the 
world  should  know  of  it.  Thence  it  is  that  the  Church,  as  a 
good  mother,  has  appointed  priests  and  not  women  for  confessors, 
for  women  can  conceal  nothing.” 

“That  is  not  the  reason,”  replied  Oisille;  “but  because 
women  have  such  a  hatred  of  vice  that  they  would  not  give  abso¬ 
lution  so  easily  as  men,  and  would  impose  too  severe  penances.” 

“  If  they  were  as  austere  in  imposing  penance  as  they  are  in 
responding,”  said  Dagoucin,  “they  would  render  more  sinners 
desperate  than  they  would  save.  The  Church,  therefore,  has 

three  very  affably.’ — {Dame  Galmtes ,  Discours  iv.)  As  for  the  principal  hero, 
the  name  of  Hastillon,  by  which  he  is  designated,  warrants  us  in  making  a 
conjecture.  May  he  not  have  been  Jacques  de  Chastillon,  chamberlain  of 
Charles  VIII.  and  Louis  XII.,  and  lieutenant  of  the  hundred  gentlemen  of 
Charles  VIII.,  who  was  killed  at  the  siege  of  Ravenna  in  15.12?  IJrantome 
has  devoted  to  him  the  nineteenth  Discours  of  his  work  on  Les  Capitam* 
Fran  can. " — bibliophile s  Franc ais 


Novel  50.]  Fifth  Day.  293 

ordained  wisely  in  all  ages.  I  do  not  pretend,  for  all  that,  to 
excuse  the  gentlemen  who  boasted  of  their  prison  ;  for  it  never 
was  to  a  man’s  honour  to  tell  ugly  tales  ot  a  woman.” 

“Nay,”  said  Geburon,  “for  the  sake  of  their  own  honour  even 
they  should  never  have  avowed  the  fact.  The  books  of  the 
Round  Table  ihform  us  that  it  is  not  glorious  for  a  knight  to 
vanquish  another  who  has  no  valour.” 

“  I  am  surprised  the  poor  woman  did  not  die  of  shame  in 
the  presence  of  her  prisoners,”  said  Longarine. 

“Those  who  have  lost  shame  can  hardly  ever  recover  it,”  said 
Oisille,  “  unless  they  have  lost  it  through  deep  love.  Of  such 
lost  ones  I  have  seen  many  come  back.” 

“  I  suspect  you  have  seen  them  come  back  as  they  came,”  said 
H  ircan,  “  for  deep  love  is  very  rare  in  women.” 

“  I  am  not  of  your  opinion,”  said  Longarine,  “  for  some  I  know 
have  loved  to  death.” 

“  I  am  so  curious  to  hear  a  story  of  one  such  woman,”  said 
Hircan,  “that  my  voice  is  for  you.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  find 
in  women  a  love  of  which  I  have  always  deemed  them  in¬ 
capable.” 

“You  will  believe  it  when  you  have  heard  the  story,”  said 
Longarine,  “and  you  will  be  convinced  that  there  is  no  stronger 
passion  than  love.  As  it  makes  one  undertake  things  almost 
impossible,  with  a  view  to  obtain  some  pleasure  in  this  life,  so 
does  it  above  all  other  passions  undermine  the  existence  of  him 
or  her  who  loses  the  hope  of  succeeding,  as  you  shall  see  from 
what  I  am  going  to  relate.” 


NOVEL  L. 

A  lover,  after  a  blood-letting,  receives  favour  from  his  mistress,  dies  in  const 
quence,  and  is  followed  by  the  fair  one,  who  sinks  under  her  grief. 

ESS  than  a  year  ago  there  was  in  Cremona  a  gentleman 
named  Messire  Jean  Pierre,  who  had  long  loved  a 
lady  in  his  neighbourhood  ;  but  for  all  he  could  do  he 
had  never  been  able  to  obtain  from  her  the  response  he 
longed  for,  though  she  loved  him  with  all  her  heart.  The  poor 
gentleman  was  so  distressed  at  this  that  he  secluded  himself  at 
home,  resolving  to  abandon  a  vain  pursuit  in  which  he  was 
wasting  his  life.  Thinking  to  detach  himself  from  his  cruel  fair 
one,  he  remained  some  days  without  seeing  her,  and  fell  into  such 


294  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

a  profound  melancholy  that  no  one  would  have  known  him,  so 
altered  were  his  looks.  His  relations  sent  for  physic'ans,  who, 
seeing  his  face  yellow,  thought  it  was  an  obstruction  of  the  liver, 
and  bled  him.  The  lady  who  had  been  so  coy,  knowing  very 
well  that  his  illness  was  nothing  but  grief  that  she  had  not  re¬ 
sponded  to  his  love,  sent  a  trusty  old  woman  with  orders  to  tell 
him  that,  as  she  could  no  longer  doubt  that  his  love  was  genuine 
and  sincere,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  grant  him  what  she 
had  so  long  refused  ;  and  that  to  that  end  she  had  contrived 
means  to  leave  home  and  go  to  a  place  where  he  might  see  her 
without  impediment. 

The  gentleman,  who  had  been  let  blood  that  morning  from  the 
arm,  finding  himself  more  relieved  by  this  embassy  than  by  all 
the  remedies  of  his  physicians,  sent  her  word  that  he  would  not 
fad  to  meet  her  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  that  she  had  per¬ 
formed  a  manifest  miracle,  inasmuch  as  by  a  single  word  she 
had  cured  a  man  of  a  malady  for  which  all  the  faculty  could  find 
'  no  remedy.  The  evening  he  so  longed  for  being  come,  he  went 
to  the  trysting-p:ace  with  a  joy  so  extreme  that,  as  it  could  not 
augment,  it  could  not  of  necessity  but  diminish  and  come  to  an 
end.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  her  he  loved  more  than  his 
soul  ;  nor  did  he  waste  time  in  making  long  speeches.  The  fire 
that  consumed  him  made  him  rush  promptly  to  the  pleasure  he 
promised  himself,  and  which  he  could  hardly  believe  was  within 
his  reach.  Too  much  intoxicated  with  love  and  voluptuous 
delight,  and  thinking  he  had  found  the  remedy  that  would  pro¬ 
long  his  life,  he  tound  that  which  hastened  his  death  ;  for  heed¬ 
less  of  himself  in  his  ardent  passion  for  his  mistress,  he  did  not 
perceive  that  his  arm  had  come  unbound.  The  wound  opened 
afresh,  and  the  poor  gentleman  lost  so  much  blood  that  he 
was  quite  bathed  in  it.  Believing  that  the  excess  he  had  in¬ 
dulged  in  was  the  cause  of  his  lassitude,  he  attempted  to  return 
home.  Then  love,  which  had  too  much  united  them,  so  dealt 
with  him  that  on  quitting  his  mistress  his  soul  at  the  same  time 
qui  trd  his  body.  He  had  lost  so  much  blood  that  he  fell  dead 
at  the  lady's  feet. 

The  awful  surprise,  and  the  thought  of  what  she  had  lost  in  so 
perfect  a  lover,  of  whose  death  she  was  the  sole  cause,  put  her 
beside  herself.  Redecting,  besides,  on  the  shame  that  would 
devolve  on  her  if  a  dead  body  was  found  in  the  house  with  her. 
she  called  to  her  aid  a  trusty  woman-servant,  and  they  carried 
the  body  into  the  street.  But  not  choosing  to  leave  it  alone,  she 
took  the  sword  of  the  deceased,  and  being  resolved  to  follow  his 


/ 


295 


Novel  50.J  Fifth  Day. 

destiny,  and  punish  her  heart,  which  was  the  cause  of  her  ca¬ 
lamity,  she  pierced  herself  with  the  sword,  and  fell  dead  on  her 
lover’s  body.  That  sad  spectacle  was  the  first  thing-  that  met  the 
eyes  of  her  father  and  mother  when  they  came  out  of  their  house 
in  the  morning.  After  the  lamentations  due  to  so  tragic  an  event, 
they  had  them  both  interred  together. 

This,  ladies,  was  an  extreme  disaster,  which  could  only  be 
ascribed  to  a  love  as  extreme. 

“  That  is  what  I  like  to  see,”  said  Simontault ;  “  a  love  so  re¬ 
ciprocal  that  when  the  one  dies  the  other  will  not  survive.  Had  I, 
by  God’s  gr^ce,  found  such  a  mistress,  I  believe  that  no  man 
would  ever  have  loved  more  perfectly  than  I.” 

“I  am  sure,”  said  Parlamente,  “that  love  would  never  have 
so  deprived  you  of  your  wits  but  that  you  would  have  taken  care 
to  tie  up  your  arm  better.  Men  no  longer  lose  their  lives  for 
ladies.  That  time  is  gone  by.” 

“But  the  time  is  not  gone  by,”  retorted  Simontault,  “when 
ladies  forget  their  lovers’  lives  for  sake  of  their  own  pleasure.’’ 

“  I  do  not  believe,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  that  there  is  a  woman  in 
the  world  who  would  take  delight  in  any  man’s  death,  though  he 
were  her  enemy  ;  but  if  men  choose  to  kill  themselves,  the  ladies 
cannot  hinder  them.” 

“  She,  however,  who  refused  bread  to  the  poor  famishing  man,”  . 
said  Saffredent,  “  must  be  regarded  as  his  murderess.” 

“If  your  prayers  were  as  reasonab  e  as  those  of  the  beggar  who 
asks  for  bread,”  said  Oisille,  “  it  would  be  too  cruel  on  the  part 
of  the  ladies  to  deny  your  petition.  But,  thank  Heaven,  this 
malady  kills  none  but  those  who^e  time  is  come.” 

“I  cannot,  think,  madam,”  replied  Saffredent,  “that  there  is 
any  greater  need  than  that  one  which  makes  a  man  fotget  all 
others.  When  one  loves  well,  one  knows  no  other  bread  than 
the  glances  and  the  words  of  the  beloved  being.” 

“If  you  were  starved  for  a  while  you  would  tell  a  very  dif¬ 
ferent  story,”  said  Oisille.  1 

“I  confess,”  he  replied,  “that  the  body  might  grow  weak 
under  that  discipline,  but  not  the  heart  and  the  will.” 

“That  being  the  case,”  said  Parlamente,  “  God  has  been  very 
gracious  to  you  in  making  you  fall  into  the  hands  of  women  who 
have  given  you  so  little  satisfaction  that  you  must  console  your¬ 
self  for  it  by  eating  and  drinking.  You  take  so  Kindly  to  that  sort 
of  consolation  that  methinks  you  ought  to  thank  God  for  that 
merciful  cruelty.” 


296  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  /Vavarre. 

“I  am  so  inured  to  suffering,”  he  replied,  “that  I  begin  to 
take  pleasure  in  the  ills  which  others  bemoan.” 

“  It  may  be,”  said  Longarine,  “  that  your  lamentations  exclude 
you  from  the  company  to  which  you  would  otherwise  be  wel¬ 
come,  for  there  is  nothing  so  disagreeable  as  an  importunate 
lover.” 

“  Or  as  a  cruel  lady,  you  may  add,”  said  Simontault. 

“  If  we  were  to  wait  till  Simontault  had  delivered  all  his 
maxims,”  said  Oisille,  “  I  see  that  we  should  come  in  for  com¬ 
plines  instead  of  vespers.  Let  us,  then,  go  and  thank  God  that 
this  day  has  passed  without  any  dispute  of  more  consequence.” 

She  then  rose,  and  was  followed  by  all  the  rest  ;  but  Simon¬ 
tault  and  Longarine  ceased  not  to  dispute,  but  so  gently  that, 
without  drawing  the  sword,  Simontault  gained  the  victory,  and 
proved  that  there  is  no  greater  need  than  a  great  passion.  There¬ 
upon  they  entered  the  church  where  the  monks  were  waiting  for 
them.  After  vespers  they  went  to  table,  and  conversed  during 
the  repast  ;  nor  did  the  conversation  end  wuh  it,  but  would  have 
been  prolonged  far  into  the  night,  if  Oisille  had  not  advised  them 
to  go  and  refresh  their  spirits  with  sleep.  She  added  that  she 
was  afraid  the  sixth  day  would  not  pass  off  so  agreeably  as  the 
five  others  ;  for  even  if  they  should  have  recourse  to  invention,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  produce  better  tales  than  those  which 
had  been  already  told. 

“As  long  as  the  world  lasts,”  said  Geburon,  “there  will  every 
day  be  done  things  worthy  of  memory.  The  wicked  are  always 
wicked,  and  the  good  always  good  :  and  as  long  as  wickedness 
and  goodness  reign  on  earth,  something  new  will  always  be  taking 
place,  although  Solomon  says  that  nothing  new  happens  under 
the  sun.  As  we  have  not  been  called  to  the  privy  council  of 
God,  and  consequently  are  ignorant  of  first  causes,  all  things 
seem  new  to  us,  and  the  more  wonderful  the  less  we  could  or 
would  do  them.  So  do  not  be  afraid  that  the  days  to  come  wiil 
not  be  as  good  as  the  past,  and  think  only  of  doing  your  own 
duty  well.” 

Oisille  said  she  commended  herself  to  God.  in  whose  name 
she  bade  them  good  night.  And  so  the  whole  company  retned. 


Noixl  51  ] 


Sixth  Day . 


29? 


SIXTH  DAY. 

EXT  morning  Madame  Oisille,  even  earlier  than  usual, 
went  to  prepare  her  exhortation  in  the  hall  ;  but  the 
rest  of  the  company  being  informed  of  this,  their  desire 
to  hear  her  good  instructions  made  them  dress  so 
speedily  that  she  was  not  kept  waiting  long.  As  she  knew  their 
hearts,  she  read  the  epistle  of  St.  John,  which  speaks  only  of 
love.  This  was  so  palatable  to  the  company  that,  although  this 
morning’s  devotion  was  longer  than  usual,  they  all  thought  it 
had  not  occupied  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  After  it  was 
over  they  went  to  mass,  and  commended  themselves  to  the  Holy 
Ghost.  When  they  had  dined  and  taken  a  little  rest,  they  went 
to  the  meadow  to  continue  their  novels.  Madame  Oisille  asked 
who  should  begin  the  day.  “  I  call  upon  you  to  do  so,  madam,” 
said  Longarine,  14  for  you  gave  us  such  a  fine  lecture  this  morn¬ 
ing  that  it  is  impossible  you  should  tell  a  story  which  should 
not  correspond  to  the  glory  you  acquired  thereby.” 

"I  regret,”  replied  Oisille,  “that  I  cannot  relate  anything  to 
you  so  profitable  as  what  you  heard  this  morning.  What  I  shall 
tell  you,  however,  will  be  conformable  to  the  precepts  of  the 
Scriptures,  which  warn  us  not  to  put  our  trust  in  princes,  or  in 
any  sons  of  man,  who  cannot  save  us.  For  fear  you  should  for¬ 
get  this  truth  for  want  of  an  example,  I  will  give  you  one  that  is 
quite  true,  and  so  recent  that  those  who  beheld  the  sad  spectacle 
have  hardly  yet  dried  away  their  tears.” 


NOVEL  LI. 

Perfidy  and  cruelty  of  an  Italian  duke. 

HE  Duke  of  Urbino,  surnamed  the  Prefect,  who  married 
the  sister  of  the  first  Duke  of  Mantua,  had  a  son  about 
eighteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  who  was  in  love  with 
a  girl  ot  good  family.  Not  being  free  to  converse  with 
her  as  he  wished,  in  consequence  of  the  custom  of  the  country, 
he  had  recourse  to  a  gentleman  who  was  in  his  service,  and  who 
was  in  love  with  a  handsome,  virtuous  young  damsel  in  the 
service  of  the  duchess.  The  cavalier  employed  this  damsel  to 
make  known  his  passion  to  his  mistress,  and  the  poor  girl  took 
pleasure  in  rendering  him  service,  believing  that  his  intentions 


298  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

were  good,  and  that  she  might  with  honour  take  upon  her  to  be 
his  ambassadress.  Rut  the  duke,  who  looked  more  to  the  inte¬ 
rest  of  his  house  than  to  his  son’s  pure  affection,  was  afraid  that 
this  correspondence  would  end  in  marriage  ;  and  he  set  so  many 
spies  on  the  watch  that  at  last  he  was  informed  that  the  girl  had 
meddled  with  carrying  letters  from  his  son  to  her  of  whom  he 
was  so  passionately  enamoured.  Burning  with  rage,  he  resolved 
to  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  do  so  any  more  ;  but  as  he  was  not 
sufficiently  careful  to  conceal  his  resentment,  the  girl  was  warned 
of  it  in  time.  She  knew  the  prince  to  be  malicious  and  without 
conscience,  and  was  so  terrified  that  she  went  to  the  duchess 
and  implored  permission  to  retire  until  the  fit  of  anger  had 
passed  away.  The  duchess  told  her  that  before  she  gave  her 
leave  she  would  try  to  find  how  her  husband  took  the  matter. 
She  did  so,  and  found  that  the  duke  spoke  of  it  with  great 
bitterness,  whereupon  she  not  only  gave  her  young  lady  permis¬ 
sion,  but  even  advised  her  to  retire  into  a  convent  until  the  storm 
should  have  blown  over;  and  this  she  did  as  secretly  as  possible. 

The  duke,  however,  missed  her,  and  asked  his  wife,  with  a 
countenance  of  feigned  good-humour,  where  the  damsel  was. 
The  duchess,  who  supposed  that  he  knew  the  truth,  told  it  him 
without  reserve.  He  pretended  to  be  sorry  for  this,  and  said 
there  was  no  need  for  her  to  do  so,  that  he  meant  her  no  harm, 
and  that  the  duchess  had  better  make  her  come  back,  for  it  did 
no  good  to  have  a  talk  made  about  such  matters.  The  duchess 
told  him  that  if  the  poor  girl  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  incur 
his  displeasure,  it  was  better  that  she  should  abstain  from  appear¬ 
ing  in  his  presence  for  some  time  ;  but  he  would  not  be  so  put 
off,  but  insisted  on  her  return. 

The  duchess  made  known  the  duke’s  pleasure  to  the  damsel ; 
but  the  latter  was  not  satisfied,  and  begged  her  mistress  would 
excuse  her  from  running  such  a  risk,  knowing  as  she  did  that 
her  husband  the  duke  was  not  so  ready  to  grant  forgiveness. 
The  duchess,  however,  pledged  her  life  and  honour  that  no  harm 
should  happen  to  her  ;  and  the  damsel,  who  felt  sure  that  her 
mistress  loved  her,  and  would  for  no  consideration  deceive  her, 
trusted  to  her  promise,  believing  that  the  duke  would  never 
violate  a  promise  made  by  his  wife  on  her  life  and  honour,  and 
she  returned  to  court.  As  soon  as  the  duke  was  aware  of  this, 
he  entered  his  wife’s  chamber  ;  and  the  moment  he  set  eyes 
upon  the  poor  damsel,  he  ordered  his  gentlemen  to  arrest  her, 
and  take  her  to  prison.  The  duchess,  who  had  induced  her  to 
quit  her  asylum  upon  the  faith  of  her  word,  was  filled  with 


299 


Novel  51.]  Sixth  Day 

horror,  and  throwing  herself  at  her  husband’s  feet,  besought 
him,  for  his  own  honour  and  that  of  his  house,  not  to  do  such 
an  act.  But  no  supplications  she  could  make,  no  arguments 
she  could  urge,  had  power  to  soften  his  hard  heart,  or  turn  him 
from  his  stubborn  purpose  to  be  revenged.  Without  answering 
his  wife  a  word,  he  abruptly  quitted  the  room,  and  without  form 
of  justice,  forgetting  God  and  the  honour  of  his  house,  this  cruel 
duke  had  the  poor  girl  hanged. 

I  will  not  undertake  to  depict  the  indignation  of  the  duchess  ; 
enough  to  say  that  it  was  such  as  might  have  been  expected  of 
a  lady  of  honour  and  spirit,  who,  contrary  to  her  plighted  faith, 
saw  a  person  whom  she  would  have  saved  put  to  denth  by  her 
husband.  Much  less  will  I  attempt  to  portray  the  affliction  of 
the  poor  gentleman,  the  unfortunate  girl’s  lover.  He  did  all  he 
could  to  save  his  mistress’s  life,  and  even  offered  to  die  in  her 
place  ;  but  nothing  could  move  the  duke,  who  knew  no  other 
felicity  than  taking  vengeance  on  those  he  hated.  Thus  was  this 
poor  innocent  put  to  death  by  this  cruel  duke,  against  all  equity 
and  honour,  to  the  great  regret  of  all  who  knew  her. 

Here  you  see,  ladies,  what  a  bad  heart  is  capable  of  when  it 
is  united  with  power. 

‘‘I  have  heard,”  said  Longarine,  “that  the  Italians  were  prone 
to  all  capital  vices  ;  but  I  could  never  have  supposed  they  would 
carry  vindictiveness  and  cruelty  so  far  as  to  put  a  person  to  such 
a  miserable  death  for  so  slight  a  cause.” 

“  You  have  mentioned  one  of  the  three  vices,”  said  Saffredeni, 
laughing  ;  let  us  know,  Longarine,  what  are  the  other  two.” 

“  I  would  do  so  willingly,”  she  replied,  if  you  did  not  know 
them  ;  but  I  am  sure  you  are  acquainted  with  them  all.” 

‘•You  think  me,  then,  very  vicious  ?  ”  said  Saffredent. 

“Not  at  all,”  returned  Longarine;  “but  I  believe  you  know 
so  well  the  loathsomeness  of  vice,  that  you  can  better  avoid  it 
than  another.” 

“  Do  not  be  surprised  at  this  excess  of  cruelty,”  said  Simon- 
tault,  “  for  they  who  have  been  in  Italy  relate  such  horrible 
things  cf  the  kind,  that  what  we  have  heard  is  but  a  trifle  in 
comparison  with  them.” 

“When  the  French  took  Rivolte,”  said  Geburon,  “  there  was 
an  Italian  captain  who  had  the  reputation  of  a  brave  man,  and 
who,  seeing  a  man  lie  dead  who  was  not  otherwise  his  enemy 
than  in  having  been  a  Guelph  whilst  he  was  a  Ghibelline,  tore 
out  his  heart,  broiled  it,  ate  it  greedily,  and  replied  to  those  who 


300  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

asked  him  was  it  good,  that  he  had  never  eaten  anything  mort 
delicious.  Not  content  with  this  fine  deed,  he  killed  the  dead 
man’s  wife,  who  was  pregnant,  ripped  her  open,  tore  out  the 
child,  and  dashed  it  to  pieces  against  the  wall  ;  and  then  stuffed 
the  bodies  of  the  husband  and  wife  with  oats  for  his  horses 
to  eat.  Judge  if  this  man  would  not  have  put  to  death  a 
girl  whom  he  suspected  of  having  done  anything  offensive  to 
him.” 

“  This  duke,”  said  Ennasuite,  “was  more  afraid  his  son  should 
marry  one  who  was  not  wealthy  enough,  than  desirous  of  giving 
him  a  wife  to  his  liking.” 

“There  is  no  doubt,”  said  Simontault,  “that  the  tendency  of 
the  Italians  is  to  love  more  than  nature  the  things  that  are  only 
made  for  nature’s  service.” 

“  Their  case  is  still  worse,”  said  Hircan,  “for  they  make  their 
God  of  things  that  are  contrary  to  nature. *’ 

“  Those  are  the  sins  I  meant,”  said  Longarine  ;  “  for  we  know 
that  to  love  money  beyond  what  is  necessary  for  our  wants  it 
idolatry.” 

Parlamente  said  that  “  St.  Paul  had  not  forgotten  their  vices, 
no  more  than  those  of  such  as  think  themselves  surpassing  in 
prudence  and  human  reason,  on  which  they  count  so  much  that 
they  do  not  render  to  God  the  honour  that  is  His  due.  There¬ 
fore,  the  Almighty,  jealous  of  His  Glory,  renders  more  insensate 
than  the  brute  beasts  those  who  think  they  have  more  sense  than 
other  men,  and  allows  them  to  do  acts  contrary  to  nature,  which 
shows  evidently  that  their  sense  is  reprobate.” 

“That  is  the  third  sin,”  said  Longarine,  interrupting  her,  ‘‘to 
which  the  Italians  are  addicted.” 

“In  good  sooth,  I  like  this  remark,”  said  Nomerfide.  “Since 
those  who  are  regarded  as  having  the  subtlest  wits,  and  are  the 
best  speakers,  are  punished  in  this  manner,  and  bruiified  more 
than  the  brutes  themselves,  it  must  be  concluded  that  persons 
who  are  humble  and  low  and  of  little  reach,  like  myself,  are 
endowed  with  angelic  sapience.” 

“  I  assure  you,”  said  Oisille,  “  I  am  not  far  from  your  way  of 
thinking;  and  I  am  persuaded  that  there  are  none  more  ignorant 
than  those  who  imagine  themselves  knowing.” 

“  I  never  knew  a  mocker  who  was  not  mocked,”  said  Geburon, 
*' a  deceiver  who  was  not  deceived,  or  a  proud  mar  who  was  not 
humbled.” 

“  You  put  me  in  mind  of  a  trick  I  should  like  to  relate  to  you 
if  it  was  seemly,  ’  said  Simontault. 


Novel  52.J  Sixth  Day.  301 

“  Since  we  are  here  to  tell  the  truth,  tell  it,  whatever  it  be,” 
said  Oisille. 

“  Well,  since  you  desire  it,  madam,  I  will  tell  it  you,”  he 
reolied. 


NOVEL  LI I. 

A  nasty  oreakfast  given  to  an  advocate  and  a  gentleman  by  an  apothecary’s 

man. 

N  the  time  of  the  last  Duke  Charles  there  was  at  Alengon 
an  advocate  named  Antoine  Bacheret,  a  merry  com¬ 
panion,  and  fond  of  breakfasting  o’  mornings.  One 
day,  as  he  was  sitting  before  his  door,  he  saw  a 
gentleman  pass  whose  name  was  Monsieur  de  la  Tireliere. 
He  had  come  on  foot  upon  business  he  had  in  town,  and  the 
day  being  cold,  he  had  not  forgotten  to  take  with  him  his 
great  robe,  lined  with  foxskin.  Seeing  the  advocate,  who 
was  much  such  a  man  as  himself,  he  asked  him  how  he  was 
getting  on,  and  observed  that  a  good  breakfast  would  not  be 
amiss.  The  advocate  replied  that  a  breakfast  would  be  found 
soon  enough,  provided  someone  could  be  found  to  pay  for  it. 
Thereupon  La  Tirdiere  took  him  by  the  arm,  saying,  “Come 
along,  gaffer,  perhaps  we  shall  fall  in  with  some  fool  who  will 
pay  for  us  both.” 

There  happened  to  be  behind  them  an  apothecary’s  man,  a 
cunning  and  inventive  young  fellow,  whom  the  advocate  was  per¬ 
petually  making  game  of.  That  moment  the  thought  of  having 
his  revenge  came  into  his  head,  and  without  going  more  than 
ten  steps  out  of  his  way,  he  found  behind  a  house  a  fine,  big  sir 
reverence,  well  and  duly  frozen,  which  he  wrapped  up  so  neatly  in 
paper  that  it  might  be  taken  for  a  small  sugar-loaf.  He  then  looked 
out  for  his  men,  and  passing  them  like  a  person  in  great  haste, 
entered  a  house,  and  let  fall  the  sugar-loaf  from  his  sleeve,  as  if 
inadvertently.  The  advocate  picked  it  up  with  great  glee,  and  said 
to  La  Tireliere,  “  This  clever  fellow  shall  pay  our  scot ;  but  let 
us  be  off  quickly  for  fear  he  comes  back.” 

The  pair  having  entered  a  cabaret,  the  advocate  said  to  the 
servant  girl,  “  Make  us  a  good  fire,  arid  give  us  some  good 
bread  and  good  wine,  and  something  nice  with  it for  he  fancied 
he  had  wherewithal  to  pay.  They  were  served  to  their  liking ; 
but  as  they  grew  warm  with  eating  and  drinking,  the  sugar-loaf, 
which  the  advocate  carried  in  his  bosom,  began  to  thaw,  and 


302  The  Heptcimeron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

gave  out  such  a  stench  that,  thinking  it  came  from  elsewhere,  he 
said  to  the  servant,  “  You  have  the  most  fetid  and  stinking  house 
I  ever  was  in.”  La  Tireliere,  who  had  his  share  of  this  fine 
perfume,  said  the  same  thing.  The  servant,  incensed  at  thus 
being  accused  of  sluttishness,  replied,  “  By  St.  Peter,  my  masters, 
the  house  is  so  neat  and  clean  that  there  is  no  nastiness  in  it  but 
what  you  have  brought  in  with  you.”  The  two  friends  rose  from 
table,  spitting  and  holding  their  noses,  and  stood  near  the  fire  ; 
and  presently,  while  warming  himself,  the  advocate  took  his 
handkerchief  out  of  his  bosom,  disgustingly  smeared  with  the 
syrup  of  the  melted  sugar-loaf,  which  he  produced  with  it.  You 
may  well  believe  that  the  servant  made  fine  fun  of  them  after 
the  insult  they  had  offered  her,  and  that  the  advocate  was  sorely 
confounded  at  finding  himself  the  dupe  of  an  apothecary’s  man, 
whom  he  had  always  made  the  butt  of  his  wit.  The  servant, 
instead  of  taking  pity  on  them,  made  them  pay  as  handsomely 
as  they  had  been  served  ;  and  said  that  no  doubt  they  must  be 
greatly  intoxicated,  since  they  had  drunk  both  by  nose  and 
mouth.  The  poor  wights  slunk  away  with  their  shame  and 
their  cost. 

They  were  no  sooner  in  the  street  than  they  saw  the  apothe¬ 
cary’s  man  going  about  and  asking  everyone  if  they  had  seen 
a  loaf  of  sugar  wrapped  up  in  paper.  They  tried  to  avoid  him, 
but  he  shouted  to  the  advocate,  “  Monsieur,  if  you  have  my  loaf 
of  sugar  I  beg  you  will  give  it  back  to  me  ;  for  it  is  a  double  sin 
to  rob  a  poor  servant.”  His  shouts  brought  many  people  to  the 
spot  out  of  curiosity  to  witness  the  dispute  ;  and  the  real  state  of 
the  case  was  so  well  verified  that  the  apothecary’s  man  was  as 
glad  to  have  been  robbed  as  the  others  were  vexed  at  having 
committed  such  a  nasty  theft.  They  comforted  themselves,  how¬ 
ever,  with  the  hope  of  one  day  giving  him  tit  for  tat. 

The  like  often  happens,  ladies,  to  those  who  take  pleasure 
in  such  tricks.  If  the  gentleman  had  not  wanted  to  eat  at 
another’s  expense,  he  would  not  have  had  such  a  nasty  draught 
at  his  owr.  It  is  true  that  my  story  is  not  very  decorous,  but 
you  gave  me  permission  to  speak  the  truth.  I  have  done  so,  to 
show  that  when  a  deceiver  is  deceived  no  one  is  sorry  for  it. 

“  It  is  commonly  said  that  words  do  not  stink,”  said  Hircan  ; 
“but  those  who  utter  them  cannot  help  smelling  of  them.” 

“  It  is  true,”  said  Oisille,  “  that  words  of  this  sort  do  not 
stink  ;  but  there  are  others  called  dirty,  which  have  such  a 
bad  odour  that  the  soul  suffers  from  them  more  than  the  body 


Novel  52.]  Sixth  Day.  303 

would  suffer  from  smelling  a  sugar-loaf  like  that  you  have 
spoken  of.” 

“  Do  tell  me  pray,”  rejoined  Hircan,  “what  words  you  know 
so  dirty,  that  they  make  a  woman  of  honour  suffer  both  in  body 
and  soul.” 

“  It  would  be  a  fine  thing,”  replied  Oisille,  “if  I  were  to  say 
to  you  words  which  I  would  not  advise  any  woman  to  say.” 

“  I  understand  now  what  those  words  are,”  said  Saffredent. 
“  Women  like  to  appear  demure,  and  do  not  commonly  use  such 
language.  But  I  should  like  to  ask  those  present  why  they 
laugh  so  readily  when  they  are  uttered  before  them,  since  they 
will  not  themselves  utter  them.  I  cannot  understand  their 
laughing  at  a  thing  which  is  so  offensive  to  them.” 

“  It  is  not  at  those  pretty  words  we  laugh,”  said  Parlamente, 
“but  by  reason  of  the  natural  propensity  everyone  feels  to  laugh 
either  when  we  see  some  one  fall,  or  when  we  hear  something 
said  out  of  place,  as  it  often  happens  to  the  best  speakers  to  say 
one  thing  instead  of  another.  But  when  men  talk  filth  inten¬ 
tionally,  and  with  premeditation,  I  know  no  honourable  woman 
but  feels  intense  aversion  for  such  people,  and,  far  from  listening 
to  them,  shuns  their  society.” 

“It  is  true,”  said  Geburon,  “that  I  have  seen  women  cross 
themselves  on  hearing  that  sort  of  words  which  seemed  more 
disgusting  the  more  they  were  repeated.” 

“  But,”  said  Simontault,  “  how  often  have  they  put  on  their 
masks  to  laugh  behind  them  as  heartdy  as  they  pretended  to  be 
vexed  ?” 

“  Even  that  were  better  than  to  show  that  one  took  pleasure 
in  such  language,”  said  Parlamente. 

“So,  then,”  remarked  Dagoucin,  “you  praise  hypocrisy  in 
ladies  as  much  as  virtue  ?  ” 

Virtue  would  be  much  better,”  replied  Longarine ;  “but 
when  it  is  wanting  we  must  have  recourse  to  hypocrisy,  as  we 
use  high-heelrd  shoes  to  hide  our  littleness.  If  we  can  hide  our 
defects,  even  that  is  no  little  advantage.” 

“  By  my  faith,  it  would  be  better  sometimes  to  let  some  little 
defect  appear,”  said  Hircan,  “  than  to  hide  it  so  carefully  under 
the  cloak  of  virtue.” 

“  It  is  true,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  that  a  borrowed  garment  dis¬ 
honours  him  who  is  obliged  to  return  it,  as  much  as  it  did  him 
honour  to  wear  it.  There  is  a  lady  in  the  world  who,  in  her 
over-anxiety  to  hide  a  small  fault,  has  committed  a  much  greater 
one.” 


304  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

*‘1  think  I  know  whom  you  mean,”  said  Hircan  ;  “  but  at 
least  do  not  name  her.” 

“Oh  !  you  have  my  voice,”  said  Geburon,  “  on  condition  that 
when  you  have  told  the  ta'e,  you  will  tell  us  the  names,  which 
we  will  swear  never  to  mention.” 

“I  promise  it,”  said  Ennasuite,  “for  there  is  nothing  which 
may  not  be  said  decorously.” 


NOVEL  LI  1 1. 

Madame  de  Neufchastel,  by  her  dissimulation,  forced  the  prince  of  Belhosteto 
put  her  to  such  a  proof  as  turned  to  her  dishonour. 

N  one  occasion,  when  King  Francis  I.  went  with  but  a 
small  suite  to  spend  some  days  at  a  very  handsome 
chateau,  to  enjoy  the  chase  and  other  recreations,  he 
was  accompanied  by  the  Prince  of  Belhoste,  as  much 
distinguished  for  every  excellence  of  mind  and  person  as  any  at 
court.  He  had  married  a  wife  who  was  not  of  a  great  family, 
but  whom  he  loved  as  much  as  any  husband  can  love  a  wife.  He 
put  such  confidence  in  her  that  when  he  loved  elsewhere  he  made 
no  secret  of  it  to  her,  well  knowing  that  she  had  no  other  will 
than  his.  This  lord  conceived  a  strong  regard  for  a  widow 
named  Madame  de  Neufchastel,  who  was  considered  the  hand¬ 
somest  woman  of  her  time.  If  the  prince  was  greatly  attached 
to  this  widow,  the  princess  his  wife  was  no  less  so,  often  invited 
her  to  table,  and  thought  so  highly  of  her  that,  far  from  being 
displeased  that  her  husband  loved  her,  she  was  delighted  to  see 
that  he  addressed  his  attentions  to  so  worthy  and  virtuous  an 
object.  This  friendship  was  of  such  long  duration,  and  so 
perfect,  that  the  prince  busied  himself  with  Madame  de  Neuf- 
chastel’s  affairs  as  much  as  with  his  own,  and  the  princess  his 
wife  did  likewise. 

The  widow’s  beauty  attracted  round  her  many  great  lords  and 
gentlemen  as  suitors,  some  of  whom  were  actuated  only  by  love, 
others  had  an  eye  to  her  wealth  ;  for,  in  addition  to  her  beauty, 
she  was  very  rich.  One  gentleman  especially,  named  the 
Seigneur  des  Cheriots,  was  so  assiduous  in  his  wooing  that  he 
never  failed  to  present  himself  at  her  lever  and  her  catcher ,  and 
spent  as  much  time  in  her  society  as  he  possibly  could.  The 
prince,  who  thought  that  a  man  of  such  mean  birth  and  appear¬ 
ance  did  not  deserve  to  be  treated  so  favourably,  was  not  at  all 


Novel  53.]  Sixth  Day .  305 

pleased  with  his  assiduities,  and  often  remonstrated  with  the 
widow  on  the  subject  ;  but  as  she  was  a  duke’s  daughter,  she 
excused  herself,  saying  that  she  talked  generally  to  everybody, 
and  that  their  intimacy  would  be  less  observed  when  it  was  seen, 
that  she  did  not  talk  more  to  one  than  to  another.  After  some 
time,  this  Sieur  des  Cheriots  pressed  his  suit  so  much  that  she 
promised  to  marry  him,  more  in  consequence  of  his  importunity 
than  of  her  preference  for  him,  on  condition  that  he  would  not 
require  her  to  declare  the  marriage  until  her  daughters  were 
married.  After  this  promise,  the  gentleman  used  to  go  to  her 
chamber  without  scruple,  at  any  hour  he  pleased  ;  and  there  was 
only  a  femme-de-chambre  and  a  man  who  were  privy  to  the 
affair. 

The  prince  was  so  displeased  at  seeing  the  gentleman  becoming 
more  and  more  domesticated  with  her  he  loved,  that  he  could  not 
help  saying  to  her,  “  I  have  always  prized  your  honour  as  that  of 
my  own  sister.  You  know  with  what  propriety  I  have  always 
addressed  you,  and  what  pleasure  I  feel  in  loving  a  lady  so  dis¬ 
creet  and  virtuous  as  you  ;  but  if  I  thought  that  another  obtained 
by  importunity  what  I  would  not  ask  for  against  your  inclina¬ 
tion,  I  could  not  endure  it,  nor  would  it  do  you  honour.  I  say 
this  to  you  because  you  are  young  and  fair,  and  have  hitherto 
enjoyed  a  good  reputation  ;  but  you  are  beginning  to  be  the 
subject  of  reports  greatly  to  your  disadvantage.  Though  this 
person  has  neither  birth,  fortune,  credit,  knowledge,  nor  good 
looks  in  comparison  with  you,  it  would  have  been  better,  never¬ 
theless,  that  you  had  married  him  than  have  given  rise  to  sus¬ 
picion,  as  you  are  doing.  Tell  me, /then,  I  entreat,  if  you  are 
resolved  to  love  him  ;  for  I  do  not  choose  to  have  him  for  a 
companion,  but  will  leave  you  wholly  to  him,  and  will  no  longer 
entertain  for  you  the  sentiments  I  have  hitherto  cherished.” 

The  poor  lady,  fearing  to  lose  his  friendship,  began  to  cry,  and 
vowed  to  him  that  she  would  rather  die  than  marry  the  gentle¬ 
man  in  question  ;  but  that  he  was  so  importunate  that  she  could 
not  hinder  his  entering  her  room  at  the  hours  when  everyone 
else  visited  her.  “  I  do  not  speak  of  those  hours,”  said  the 
prince,  “for  I  can  visit  you  then  as  well  as  he,  and  everyone  sees 
what  you  do  ;  but  I  have  been  told  that  he  comes  to  you  after 
you  are  m  bed,  which  I  think  so  bad,  that  if  you  continue  it 
without  declaring  that  he  is  your  husband,  I  look  upon  you  as 
the  woman  most  ruined  in  reputation  that  ever  was.” 

She  assured  him  with  all  the  oaths  she  could  think  of  that  she 
regatded  the  man  neither  as  husband  nor  lover,  but  as  the  most 

x 


306  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

importunate  person  in  the  world.  “  Since  that  is  the  case,”  said 
the  prince,  “  I  promise  that  I  will  rid  you  of  him.” 

“What  1”  replied  the  widow,  “would  you  put  him  to  death  ?  ” 

“  No,  no,”  said  the  prince  ;  “  but  I  will  let  him  know  that  he 
must  not  give  occasion  in  this  way  for  people  to  speak  ill  of  ladies 
in  the  king’s  residence.  I  swear  to  you,  by  the  love  I  bear  you, 
that  if  he  does  not  correct  himself  after  I  have  spoken  to  him,  I 
will  correct  him  in  such  a  manner  that  he  shall  be  an  example 
for  others.” 

With  these  words  the  prince  went  away,  and  on  leaving  the 
room  he  met  the  Seigneur  des  Cheriots  coming  thither,  and  spoke 
to  him  to  the  same  purpose,  assuring  him  that  the  first  time  he 
found  him  there  at  any  other  hour  than  one  in  which  it  was 
proper  for  gentlemen  to  visit  ladies,  he  would  give  him  such  a 
fright  as  he  should  not  forget  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  would 
teach  him  not  to  trifle  with  a  lady  whose  relations  were  persons 
of  such  consequence.  The  gentleman  protested  that  he  had 
never  been  there  except  like  other  visitors  ;  and  that  if  the  prince 
found  him  transgressing  in  that  respect,  he  would  give  him  leave 
to  do  the  worst  he  could. 

Some  days  afterwards,  the  gentleman,  fancying  that  the  prince 
had  forgotten  what  he  had  told  him,  went  to  see  the  lady  in  the 
evening,  and  stayed  very  late.  The  prince  told  his  wife  that 
Madame  de  Neufchastel  had  a  severe  cold,  and  the  good  lady 
begged  him  to  go  see  her  for  them  both,  and  apologise  for  her,  as 
she  was  prevented  from  accompanying  him  by  indispensable 
business.  The  prince  waited  till  the  king  was  in  bed,  and  then 
went  to  say  good  evening  to  the  window.  He  had  just  reached 
the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and  was  about  to  go  up,  when  he  met 
a  valet  de  chambre  coming  down,  who  swore,  in  reply  to  the 
prince’s  questions,  that  his  mistress  was  in  bed  and  asleep.  The 
prince  retraced  his  steps,  but  presently,  suspecting  that  the  valet 
had  told  a  lie,  he  looked  back,  and  saw  the  man  returning  hastily. 
He  stopped,  therefore,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  yard  before 
the  door  to  watch  if  the  valet  reappeared,  and  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterwards  he  saw  him  come  down,  and  peer  about  in  all 
directions  to  see  who  was  in  the  yard.  The  prince,  entertaining 
no  doubt  now  that  Seigneur  des  Cheriots  was  with  the  widow, 
and  durst  not  come  out  for  fear  of  him,  continued  his  promenade 
for  a  long  while.  Recollecting  that  one  of  the  lady’s  chambei 
windows  looked  upon  a  little  garden,  and  was  not  very  high,  he 
called  to  mind  the  proverb  which  says,  “  Whoso  cannot  pa*4 
through  the  door  let  him  jump  through  the  window.”  He  ther*- 


3°7 


Novel  53.]  Sixth  Day. 

fore  called  one  of  his  valets,  and  said,  “  Go  into  that  garden, 
and  if  you  see  a  gentleman  come  down  from  a  window,  draw 
your  sword,  and  the  moment  he  is  down,  make  your  sword  clash 
upon  the  wall,  and  shout,  ‘  Kill  !  kill  !’  but  do  not  touch  him.” 
The  valet  went  to  where  his  master  ordered  him,  and  the  prince 
walked  up  and  down  till  near  midnight. 

The  Seigneur  des  Cheriots,  hearing  that  the  prince  was  still 
in  the  yard,  resolved  to  escape  by  the  window,  and  throwing  his 
cloak  into  the  garden,  he  followed  it  with  the  help  of  his  good 
friends.  The  valet  no  sooner  espied  him  than  he  made  a  great 
clatter  with  his  sword,  and  shouted,  “Kill  him,  kill  him!” 
The  poor  gentleman,  mistaking  the  valet  for  the  master,  was  so 
frightened  that,  without  stopping  to  pick  up  his  cloak,  he  ran 
off  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  and  was  met  by  the 
archers  of  the  watch,  who  were  greatly  surprised  to  see  him 
running  so.  He  durst  not  say  anything  else  to  them  than  to  beg 
earnestly  they  would  open  the  gate  for  him,  or  take  him  to  their 
quarters  till  the  next  day  ;  which  they  did,  not  having  the  keys. 

Then  it  was  that  the  prince  went  to  bed.  He  found  his  wife 
asleep,  woke  her,  and  asked  her  to  guess  what  o’clock  it  was. 
*•  1  have  not  heard  the  clock  strike  since  I  came  to  bed,”  said  she. 

“  It  is  past  three  o’clock.”  said  he. 

“Good  Heavens!  monsieur,  where  have  you  been  staying  so 
long  ?”  exclaimed  the  wife.  “  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  the  worse 
for  it” 

“Watching  will  never  make  me  ill,  my  dear,”  he  replied,  M  so 
long  as  1  keep  those  awake  who  think  to  deceive  me.”  And  so 
saying,  he  laughed  so  heartily  that  she  begged  him  to  tell  her 
what  it  was  for.  He  told  her  the  whole  story,  and  showed  her 
the  wolf’s  skin,  which  his  valet  had  carried  home  with  him. 
After  they  had  diverted  themselves  at  the  expense  of  the  widow 
and  her  gallant,  they  went  to  sleep  with  as  much  composure  as 
the  other  pair  felt  fear  and  uneasiness  lest  their  intrigue  should 
be  discovered. 

Now  the  gentleman,  reflecting  that  he  could  not  dissemble 
before  the  prince,  came  to  his  levee  next  morning,  and  besought 
the  prince  not  to  expose  him,  and  to  order  his  cloak  to  be 
restored  to  him.  The  prince  pretended  not  to  understand  him, 
and  played  his  part  so  well  that  the  poor  gentleman  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  it.  But  at  last  he  received  such  a  rating 
as  he  had  not  expected  ;  for  the  prince  assured  him  that  if  ever 
he  was  found  there  again,  he  would  speak  to  the  king,  and  hav« 
him  banished  from  the  court. 


$08  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

Judge,  ladies,  I  pray  you,  if  this  poor  widow  would  not  have 
done  better  to  speak  frankly  to  him  who  did  her  the  honour  to 
love  and  esteem  her,  than  by  her  dissimulation  to  reduce  him  to 
the  necessity  of  seeking  evidence  so  dishonouring  to  herself. 

“She  knew,”  said  Geburon,  “that  if  she  told  him  the  truth 
she  would  wholly  lose  his  esteiem,  which  she  wished  to  preserve 
by  all  means.” 

“  It  strikes  me,”  said  Longarine,  “  that  since  she  had  chosen  a 
husband  to  her  liking,  she  had  no  reason  to  care  tor  losing  the 
love  of  all  her  other  admirers.” 

“  I  believe,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  if  she  had  ventured  to 
declare  her  marriage  she  would  have  contented  herself  with  her 
husband  ;  but  wishing  to  conceal  it  until  her  daughters  were 
married,  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  let  go  so  good  a 
mt-ans  of  cloaking  her  real  sentiments  and  conduct.” 

“That  is  not  it,”  said  Saffredent ;  “but  the  fact  is,  that  the 
ambition  of  women  is  so  great  that  they  never  content  themselves 
with  one  lover.  I  have  heard  that  the  best  of  them  like  to  have 
three — one  for  honour,  one  for  interest,  and  the  third  for  pleasure  ; 
and  each  of  the  three  believes  himself  the  most  favoured  ;  but 
the  first  two  serve  the  last.” 

“You  speak  of  women  who  know  neither  love  nor  honour,” 
said  Oisille. 

“  There  are  women,  madam,  of  the  character  I  describe,  whom 
you  regard  as  the  most  virtuous  women  in  the  country,”  replied 
Saffredent. 

“  Rely  upon  it,”  said  Hircan,  “  that  a  clever  woman  will 
always  contrive  to  live  where  others  would  die  of  hunger.” 

“  But  when  their  slyness  is  known  their  case  is  mortal,”  said 
Longarine. 

“Nay,  they  thrive  all  the  better  for  it,”  said  Simontault.  “  It 
is  no  small  glory  for  them  to  be  reputed  more  cunning  than  their 
companions.  Such  a  reputation  brings  more  lovers  under  sub¬ 
jection  to  them  than  does  their  beauty.  In  fact,  one  of  the  greatest 
pleasures  known  to  lovers  is  to  conduct  their  amours  slyly.”  . 

“  You  are  speaking  of  criminal  love,”  said  Ennasuite  ;  “  for 
lawful  love  has  no  need  of  concealment.” 

“Put  that  notion  out  of  your  head,  I  beseech  you,”  said 
Dagoucin,  “  for  the  more  precious  a  drug  is  the  less  it  should 
be  exposed  to  the  air.  Secrecy  is  necessary  whether  one  loves 

icusly  or  the  reverse  ;  and  that  for  fear  of  false  judgment 
on  the  part  of  those  who  cannot  believe  a  man  capable  of  loving 
a  woman  honourably,  Such  persons  judge  others  by  themselves  ; 


Xcvcl  54. j 


3°9 


Sixth  Day . 

and,  as  they  love  their  pleasure  only7,  they  imagine  tha*  everyone 
is  like  themselves.  If  we  were  all  of  good  faith,  dissimulation 
would  be  needless,  at  least  with  regard  to  those  who  would 
rather  die  than  harbour  a  bad  thought.” 

“  I  assure  you,  Dagoucin.”  said  Hircan,  “  your  philosophy  is 
so  sublime  that  there  is  not  one  person  in  this  company  who  can 
compass  or  believe  it.  To  hear  you  talk,  one  would  say  you 
meant  to  persuade  us  that  men  are  either  angels,  or  stones,  or 
devils.” 

“  I  know  well,”  replied  Dagoucin,  “  that  men  are  men,  and 
subject  to  all  the  passions  ;  but  I  know  that  there  are  those 
among  them  who  would  rather  die  than  for  their  pleasure  the 
lady  they  love  should  do  aught  against  her  conscience.” 

“  To  say  they  would  rather  die  is  saying  a  great  deal,”  said 
Geburon.  “  I  could  not  believe  it,  though  I  were  told  it  by  the 
most  austere  monk  in  the  world.” 

“I  am  disposed  to  believe,”  said  Hircan,  “there  is  no  one 
whose  desires  do  not  run  quite  the  other  way.  People  pretend, 
however,  not  to  like  grapes  when  they  are  too  high  for  them  to 
reach.” 

“  But,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  I  suppose  the  prince’s  wife  was  very 
glad  that  he  came  to  know  what  women  are.” 

“  I  assure  you  it  was  quite  the  reverse,”  said  Ennasuite  ;  “  she 
was  very  sorry  for  it,  because  she  loved  the  widow.” 

“  She  was  a  match  for  the  woman  who  laughed  when  her, 
husband  kissed  her  servant,”  said  Saffredent. 

“  Decidedly  you  shall  tell  us  that  story,”  said  Ennasuite. 

“It  is  short,”  he  replied,  “but  it  will  make  you  laugh,  which 
is  better  than  being  long.” 


NOVEL  LIV. 

A  lady  laughed  to  see  her  husband  kissing  her  servant,  and  being  asked  the 
reason,  replied  that  she  laughed  at  her  shadow. 

HERE  lived  between  the  Pyrenees  and  the  Alps  a 
gentleman  named  Thogas,  who  had  a  wife  and  children, 
a  very  line  house,  and  so  much  wealth  and  pleasure  that 
he  had  great  reason  to  be  content.  The  only  drawback 
to  so  many  sources  of  enjoyment  was  a  violent  pain  under  the 
roots  of  the  hair,  on  account  of  which  the  physicians  advised  him 
to  desist  from  sleeping  with  his  wife.  To  this  she  readily  con¬ 
sented  preferring  her  husband’s  health  and  life  before  all  things, 


3 1  c  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

and  had  her  bed  put  at  the  other  corner  of  the  room,  directly 
opposite  her  husband’s,  so  that  they  could  neither  of  them  put 
their  heads  out  without  seeing  each  other.  This  lady  had  two 
chamber  women.  The  husband  and  wife  used  often  to  read 
entertaining  books  in  bed,  the  servant  women  holding  the  candle, 
the  younger  for  the  husband,  and  the  other  for  the  wife.  The 
gentleman,  finding  the  servant  younger  and  handsomer  than  his 
wife,  took  such  pleasure  in  contemplating  her,  that  he  used  to 
leave  off  reading  to  converse  with  her.  His  wife  heard  all,  and 
was  not  displeased  that  her  valets  and  her  handmaids  should 
amuse  her  husband,  being  sure  that  he  loved  none  but  herself. 

One  evening,  after  reading  longer  than  usual,  the  lady  looked 
along  her  husband’s  bed,  and  saw  only  the  back  of  the  servant 
who  was  holding  the  candle  to  him  ;  whilst  of  her  husband  she 
saw  nothing  but  his  shadow,  projected  on  the  white  wall  forming 
the  side  of  the  chimney  which  jutted  into  the  room.  She  per¬ 
fectly  distinguished  the  faces  of  both,  and  saw  by  their  shadows, 
as  clearly  as  she  could  have  seen  by  the  substance  of  each,  if 
they  were  apart,  or  met,  or  laughed.  The  gentleman,  who  was 
not  aware  of  this,  and  never  supposed  that  his  wife  could  see 
him,  kissed  his  servant.  For  that  time  the  wife  said  not  a  word  ; 
but  seeing  that  the  shadows  often  repeated  the  same  movement, 
she  was  afraid  there  was  reality  beneath  it,  and  she  burst  into 
such  a  loud  laugh  that  the  shadows  separated  in  alarm.  The 
gentleman  asked  her  why  she  laughed  so  heartily,  and  begged 
she  would  let  him  have  part  in  her  merriment.  “  I  am  such  a 
simpleton,  my  dear,”  she  replied,  “  that  I  laugh  at  my  shadow.” 
Question  her  as  he  would,  there  was  no  getting  any  other 
answer  from  her.  There  was  an  end,  however,  to  that  shadowy 
dalliance. 

I  have  been  reminded  of  this  incident  by  what  you  said  of  the 
lady  who  loved  her  husband’s  mistress. 

“In  faith,”  said  Ennasuite,  “if  my  servant  had  served  me  so, 
I  would  have  got  up  and  smashed  the  candle  on  her  nose.” 

“You  are  very  terrible,”  said  Hircan  ;  “but  it  would  have 
been  a  bad  business  for  you  if  your  husband  and  the  servant 
had  turned  round  upon  you  and  beaten  you  soundly.  What 
need  to  make  such  a  pother  about  a  kiss  ?  The  wife  would 
have  done  still  better  not  to  say  a  word,  but  leave  her  husband 
to  divert  himself.  That  would,  perhaps,  have  cured  him.” 

“  Perhaps,  on  the  contrary,  she  feared  that  the  end  of  th« 
diversion  would  make  him  worse,”  said  Parlamente. 


Noi'rf  54-]  Sixth  Day .  311 

“She  was  not  one  of  those  of  whom  our  Lord  speaks,”  said 
Oisille,  “when  he  says,  ‘We  have  mourned  and  you  have  not 
wept,  we  have  sung  and  you  have  not  danced,’  for  when  her 
husband  was  ill  she  wept,  and  when  he  was  merry  she  laughed. 
All  good  women  ought  thus  to  share  with  their  husbands  good 
and  evil,  joy  and  sorrow,  and  should  love,  serve,  and  obey  them 
as  the  Church  does  Jesus  Christ.” 

“Our  husbands,  madam,”  said  Parlamente,  “ought  likewise 
to  behave  to  us  as  Jesus  Christ  does  to  the  Church.” 

“  And  so  we”  do,  said  Saffredent,  “  and  we  would  do  some¬ 
thing  more  if  it  were  possible  ;  for  Jesus  Christ  died  only  once 
lor  his  Cnurch,  and  we  die  daily  for  our  wives.” 

“  Die  ?  ”  exclaimed  Longarine  ;  “it  strikes  me  that  you  and  the 
rest  of  you  here  are  worth  more  crowns  than  you  were  worth 
sous  before  you  were  married.” 

“I  know  why,”  said  Saffredent.  “It  is  because  our  worth  is 
so  often  proved.  Nevertheless,  our  shoulders  feel  the  effects  of 
having  so  long  worn  harness.” 

“If  you  had  been  constrained,”  retorted  Ennasuite,  “to  wear 
harness  for  a  month,  and  to  lie  on  the  bare  ground,  you  would 
be  very  glad  to  get  back  to  your  good  wife’s  bed  and  wear  the 
harness  of  which  you  now  complain.  But  they  say  that  people 
can  bear  anything  except  ease,  and  that  no  one  knows  the  value 
of  repose  until  he  has  lost  it.” 

“  This  good  woman,  who  laughed  when  her  husband  was 
merry,”  said  Oisille,  “  was  glad  to  enjoy  her  repose  under  any 
circumstances.” 

“  It  is  my  belief,”  said  Longarine,  “that  she  loved  her  repose 
better  than  her  husband,  since  nothing  could  move  her,  do  what 
he  might.” 

“  She  took  to  heart  what  might  be  injurious  to  his  conscience 
and  his  health,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “  but  at  the  same  time  she 
was  not  a  woman  to  make  a  fuss  about  trifles.” 

“You  make  me  laugh  when  you  talk  of  conscience,”  said 
Simontault.  “  That  is  a  thing  about  which  I  would  never  have 
a  woman  make  herself  uneasy.” 

“You  deserve,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  to  have  a  wife  like  her  who 
plainly  showed,  after  her  husband’s  death,  that  she  cared  more 
for  his  money  than  his  conscience.” 

“  Pray  tell  us  that  tale,”  said  Saffredent. 

“  I  had  not  intended  to  tell  so  short  a  tale,”  replied  Nomer¬ 
fide  ;  “  but  since  it ’comes  so  a  propos,  you  shall  have  it.” 


312 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

NOVEL  LV. 

Cunning  device  of  a  Spanish  widow  to  defraud  the  mendicant  friars  of  a 
testamentary  bequest  made  to  them  by  her  husband. 

HERE  was  at  Saragossa  a  merchant  who,  feeling  his 
end  approach,  and  seeing  that  he  must  quit  his  pos¬ 
sessions,  which  he  had,  perhaps,  acquired  with  bad 
faith,  thought  to  make  satisfaction  in  part  for  his  sins 
after  his  death  by  giving  some  little  present  to  God,  as  if  God 
gave  his  grace  for  money.  After  giving  orders  respecting  his 
house,  he  desired  that  a  fine  Spanish  horse,  which  constituted 
nearly  the  whole  of  his  wealth,  should  be  sold,  and  the  money 
bestowed  on  the  poor  Mendicants ;  and  he  charged  his  wife  to  do 
this  without  fail  immediately  after  his  death.  The  burial  being 
over,  and  the  first  tears  shed,  the  wife,  who  was  no  more  of  a 
simpleton  than  Spanish  women  are  in  general,  said  to  the  man¬ 
servant,  who,  like  her,  had  heard  her  husband  deliver  his  last 
will,  “  Methinks  I  lose  enough  in  losing  my  husband,  whom  1 
so  tenderly  loved,  without  losing  also  the  rest  of  my  property. 

I  would  by  no  means,  however,  contravene  the  orders  he  laid 
upon  me,  but  would  rather  improve  upon  his  intentions.  The 
poor  man,  beguiled  by  the  avarice  of  the  priests,  thought  to 
make  a  sacrifice  to  God,  in  giving  away  after  his  death  a  sum, 
one  crown  of  which  he  would  not  have  given  in  his  lifetime, 
however  pressing  might  be  the  need,  as  you  very  well  know  ; 
it  has  occurred  to  me,  then,  that  we  will  do  what  he  ordered 
us  much  better  than  he  could  have  done  it  himself  had  he 
lived  a  few  days  longer,  but  no  one  in  the  world  must  know  a 
word  about  it.” 

The  man  having  promised  to  keep  the  secret,  she  continued  : 
“You  will  take  the  horse  to  the  market,  and  when  you  are  asked 
the  price  you  will  say  one  ducat.  But  I  have  a  very  good  cat 
which  I  want  to  sell  also.  You  will  sell  it  along  with  the  horse,  , 
and  charge  for  it  ninety-nine  ducats,  making  of  the  two  one 
hundred  ducats,  which  is  the  price  at  which  my  husband  wished 
to  sell  the  horse  alone.” 

The  man  promptly  obeyed  his  mistress’s  order.  As  he  was 
walking  the  horse  about  in  the  market-place,  carrying  the  cat 
under  his  arm,  a  gentleman  who  knew  the  horse,  and  had  before 
wished  to  buy  it,  came  up  and  asked  what  he  would  take  for  it 
at  a  word.  “  A  ducat,”  said  the  man. 

“  I  would  thank  you  not  to  make  game  of  me,”  said  the  gen¬ 
tleman. 


Novel  55 .J  Sixth  Day.  313 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,”  said  the  man,  “  it  will  cost  you  no  more.  It 
is  true  you  must  buy  this  cat  at  the  same  time,  and  I  want 
ninety-nine  ducats  for  it.” 

The  gentleman,  who  thought  it  a  pretty  good  bargain,  paid 
him  forthwith  a  ducat  for  the  horse,  and  then  the  remainder  for 
the  cat,  and  had  his  two  purchases  taken  home.  The  man,  on 
his  side,  went  off  with  the  money  to  his  mistress,  who  was 
delighted  tb  get  it,  and  failed  not  to  bestow  on  the  poor  Men¬ 
dicants,  according  to  her  husband’s  intentions,  the  ducat  for 
which  the  horse  had  been  sold,  and  kept  the  rest  to  provide  for 
her  own  wants  and  those  of  her  family. 

Don’t  you  think  she  was  wiser  than  her  husband,  and  did 
she  not  take  more  care  of  the  fortune  of  her  family  than  of  his 
conscience  ? 

“  1  believe  she  loved  her  husband,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “  but  see¬ 
ing  that  most  men  wander  in  their  wits  on  their  death-bed,  and 
knowing  his  intentions,  she  interpreted  them  to  the  advantage  of 
her  children  ;  and  in  this,  I  think,  she  showed  laudable  prudence.” 

“  Do  you  not  think  it  a  great  fault,”  said  Geburon,  “  to  con¬ 
travene  the  last  wishes  of  our  deceased  friends  ?  ” 

“  A  very  great  one,”  replied  Parlamente,  “  when  the  testator 
is  in  his  sound  senses,  and  not  raving.” 

“  Do  you  call  it  raving,”  returned  Geburon,  “  to  bequeath 
one’s  property  to  the  Church  and  to  the  poor  Mendicants  ?  ” 

“  I  do  not  call  it  raving,”  she  answered,  “to  give  to  the  poor 
what  God  has  given  to  us  ;  but  to  give  away  as  alms  what 
belongs  to  another  appears  to  me  no  great  proof  of  good  sense. 
How  commonly  you  see  the  greatest  usurers  in  the  world  erecting 
the  finest  and  most  sumptuous  chapels,  as  thinking  to  make  their 
peace  with  God  for  a  hundred  thousand  ducats’  worth  of  robbery 
by  ten  thousand  duca's’  worth  of  building,  just  as  though  God 
did  not  know  how  to  count.” 

“Truly,  1  have  often  wondered,”  said  Oisille,  “  how  they  think 
to  make  their  peace  with  God  by  means  of  things  which  he  himself 
reprobated  when  he  himself  was  on  earth,  such  as  great  buildings, 
gildings,  paintings,  and  decorations.  But  if  they  rightly  under 
stood  what  God  has  said,  that  the  only  offering  he  requires  of  us 
is  a  humble  and  contrite  heart,  and  another  text  in  which  St.  Paul 
says  that  we  are  the  temple  of  God  in  which  he  desires  to  dwell, 
they  would  have  taken  pains  to  adorn  their  consciences  while 
they  were  alive,  and  not  have  waited  for  the  time  when  a  man  can 
no  longer  do  either  good  or  ill  ;  nor  would  they  have  done  what 


314  77z£  Hep  tamer 071  of  the  Quee/i  of  Navarre. 

is  still  worse,  in  laying  upon  those  they  leave  behind  the  burden 
of  giving  their  alms  to  those  they  would  not  have  deigned  to  look 
upon  all  through  their  lives.  But  He  who  knows  the  heart  cannot 
be  deceived,  and  will  judge  them  not  according  to  their  works 
merely,  but  according  to  the  faith  and  charity  that  was  in  them.” 

“Wherefore  is  it,  then,”  said  Geburon,  “  that  these  Cordeliers 
and  Mendicants  talk  to  us  of  nothing  at  death  but  making  great 
bequests  to  their  monasteries,  assuring  us  that  they  will  put  us 
intc  Paradise,  whether  we  will  or  not  ?  ” 

“  How  now,  Geburon,”  said  Hircan  ;  “have  you  forgotten  the 
wickedness  you  have  related  to  us  of  the  Cordeliers,  that  you 
ask  how  it  is  possible  for  such  men  to  lie  ?  I  declare  to  you  I 
do  not  think  there  are  in  the  world  greater  lies  than  theirs.  It 
may  be  that  those  among  them  are  not  to  be  blamed  who  speak 
on  behalf  of  their  whole  community  ;  but  there  are  many  of 
them  who  forget  their  vow  of  poverty  to  gratify  their  own 
avarice.” 

“It  strikes  me,  Hircan,”  said  Nomerfide,  “that  you  know  of 
some  such  case;  if  it  is  worthy  of  this  company,  I  beg  you  will 
tell  it  us.” 

“  I  will  do  so,”  he  replied,  “although  I  dislike  speaking  of 
such  people,  for  methinks  they  are  of  that  class  of  whom  Virgil 
says  to  Dante,  ‘  Pass  on,  and  heed  them  not.’  However,  to 
show  you  that  they  have  not  laid  aside  their  passions  with  their 
mundane  garments,  I  will  tell  a  thing  that  happened.”* 


NOVEL  LVI. 

A  pious  lady  having  asked  a  Cordelier  to  provide  a  good  husband  for  he* 
daughter,  he  marries  another  Cordelier  to  the  young  lady,  and  possesses  him¬ 
self  of  her  dowry — the  cheat  is  discovered  and  punished. 

FRENCH  lady  who  visited  Padua  heard  that  there 
was  a  Cordelier  in  the  Episcopal  prison.  Observing 
that  everyone  talked  and  joked  about  him,  she  inquired 
the  reason,  and  learned  that  this  Cordelier  was  an  old 
man,  confessor  to  a  very  respectable  and  devout  lady,  who  had 
been  some  years  a  widow,  and  had  but  one  daughter,  whom  she 

#  The  opinions  expressed  in  this  novel  and  epilogue  were  too  bold  for  the 
first  editors  of  the  Heptameron,  Boaistuau  and  Gruget,  who  altered  some 
passages  in  the  former,  and  substituted  for  the  latter  a  much  shorter  epilogue 
containing  only  common-place  reflections  on  avarice,  &c. 


Novel  56.]  Sixth  Day.  315 

loved  so  much  that  she  spared  no  pains  to  amass  wealth  for  her 
and  procure  her  a  good  match.  As  her  daughter  grew  up,  her 
whole  thought  was  how  to  find  her  a  husband  who  might  live 
happily  with  them  both  ;  that  is  to  say,  a  conscientious  person 
like  herself.  As  she  had  heard  it  laid  down  by  some  stupid 
preacher  that  it  was  better  to  do  wrong  by  the  advice  of  the 
doctors  of  the  Church  than  to  do  right  trusting  in  the  inspiration 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  she  applied  to  her  confessor,  an  aged  monk, 
who  was  a  doctor  of  theology,  and  bore  a  blameless  reputation 
throughout  the  town,  never  doubting  but  that  she  should  secure 
her  own  peace  and  her  daughter’s  through  the  advice  and  the 
prayers  of  the  good  father. 

She  besought  him  earnestly  to  choose  a  husband  for  her 
daughter — such  a  husband  as  he  knew  would  be  suitable  to  a 
girl  who  loved  God  and  h^r  honour.  He  told  her  he  must  first 
of  all  implore  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Spirit  by  fasting  and  prayer, 
and  then,  God  lending  him  light,  he  hoped  he  should  be  able  to 
find  what  she  sought.  Upon  that  he  went  away  to  ponder  over 
the  affair.  As  the  mother  had  told  him  that  she  had  five  hundred 
ducats  ready  to  hand  over  to  her  daughter’s  husband,  and  that 
she  would  maintain  both  husband  and  wife,  and  supply  them 
with  lodging,  furniture,  and  clothes,  he  bethought  him  of  a 
handsome  strapping  young  brother  of  his  order,  on  whom  he 
would  bestow  tiie  pretty  girl,  the  house,  furniture,  board,  and 
clothing,  while  he  himself  would  keep  the  five  hundred  ducats  to 
assuage  his  burning  covetousness.  After  he  had  talked  with  his 
man  and  arranged  everything,  he  went  to  the  mother  and  said  to 
her  :  “  I  believe,  madam,  that  God  has  sent  me  his  angel  Raphael, 
as  ol  old  to  Tobias,  to  enable  me  to  find  a  spouse  for  your  daugh¬ 
ter.  I  have  in  my  house  the  most  respectable  young  gentleman 
in  Italy,  who  has  seen  your  daughter,  and  is  deeply  in  love  with 
her.  When  I  was  to-day  at  prayer,  God  sent  him  to  me,  and  he 
declared  how  much  he  longs  for  this  marriage  ;  and  I,  knowing 
his  family  and  his  relations,  and  that  he  comes  of  a  notable  race, 
promised  to  speak  to  you  on  the  subject.  I  know  but  one  incon¬ 
venience  attending  this  match,  which  is.  that  wishing  to  save  one 
of  his  friends  whom  another  man  would  have  slain,  he  drew  hi- 
sword  to  part  them  ;  but  it  happened  that  his  friend  killed  the 
other,  in  consequence  of  which,  though  he  never  struck  a  strove, 
he  is  nevertheless  a  fugitive,  because  he  was  present  at  the 
murder,  and  had  drawn  his  sword.  His  parents  have  ad  vis  d 
him  to  retire  to  this  city,  where  he  wears  the  dress  of  a  student, 
and  where  he  will  remain  incognito  until  this  affair  of  his  is 


316  The  Hepiameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

arranged,  which  it  is  hoped  it  will  be  before  long.  \ou  see, 
consequently,  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  the  marriage  to  be 
secret,  and  that  you  should  not  object  to  his  going  every  day  to 
the  public  lectures,  and  coming  home  in  the  evening  to  sup  and 
sleep  in  your  house.” 

“  I  see  a  great  advantage  to  myself  in  what  you  tell  me,  sir,” 
said  the  mother;  “  for  at  least  I  shall  have  by  me  what  I  desire 
most  in  the  world.” 

Tne  Cordelier  produced  the  gallant  in  very  good  trim,  and 
with  a  handsome  doublet  of  crimson  satin.  He  was  so  well 
received  that  the  betrothal  took  place  without  more  delay,  and 
midnight  had  no  sooner  struck  than  mass  was  said,  they  were 
wedded  and  bedded,  and  remained  together  until  daybreak,  when 
the  bridegroom  said  to  his  bride  that,  in  order  to  maintain  his 
incognito,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  her  and  go  to  the  college. 
After  putting  on  his  crimson  satin  doublet  and  his  long  robe,  not 
forgetting  his  black  silk  coif,  he  took  leave  of  his  wife,  who  was 
still  in  bed,  and  assured  her  that  every  evening  he  would  come 
and  sup  with  her,  but  that  she  must  not  expect  him  at  dinner. 
Thereupon  he  went  away,  and  left  his  wife  the  happiest  woman 
in  the  world  in  her  own  esteem,  for  having  met  with  so  excellent 
a  match.  Away  went  the  young  Cordelier  to  the  old  father,  and 
handed  over  the.  five  hundred  ducats,  according  to  their  previous 
agreement,  and  in  the  evening  he  returned  to  her  who  regarded 
him  as  her  husband  ;  nor  did  he  rail  to  make  himself  so  beloved 
by  her  and  by  his  mother-in-law  that  they  would  not  have  ex¬ 
changed  him  for  the  greatest  prince  in  the  world. 

This  went  on  for  some  time  ;  but  as  God  has  pity  on  those 
who  honestly  err,  it  came  to  pass  that  the  mother  and  daughter 
had  a  mind  to  go  hear  mass  at  the  church  of  the  Cordeliers,  and 
to  pay  a  visit  at  the  same  time  to  the  good  father  confessor 
through  whose  instrumentality  they  thought  themselves  so  well 
provided,  the  one  with  a  son-in-law,  the  other  with  a  husband. 
Chance  so  ordained  that,  not  finding  the  confessor  there,  nor 
anyone  else  they  knew,  they  were  content  to  hear  high  mass, 
which  was  just  beginning,  whilst  they  awaited  the  confessor’s 
arrival.  The  young  wife,  attending  closely  to  the  divine  service, 
was  greatly  surprised  when  the  priest  turned  to  say  Dominus 
vobiscum,  for  she  fancied  she  beheld  her  husband,  or  some  one 
singularly  resembling  him.  She  said  not  a  word,  however,  but 
waited  till  he  appeared  again,  when  she  had  a  still  better  view  ol 
him  than  before,  and  no  longer  doubting  that  it  was  he,  “  Oh. 
mother  1  ”  she  exclaimed,  “  what  do  I  see?” 


3*7 


Novel  56,]  Sixth  Day. 

“  What  is  it  ?  ”  said  the  mother. 

“  My  husband  saying  mass,  or  somebody  the  most  like  him  in 
the  world.” 

“  Pray,  my  dear,”  said  the  mother,  who  had  not  taken  much 
notice  of  the  priest,  “  don’t  let  such  a  notion  into  your  head.  It 
is  absolutely  impossible  that  such  pious  men  should  practise  such 
a  cheat.  It  would  be  a  great  sin  in  you  to  believe  any  such  thing.” 

For  all  that,  the  mother  did  not  fail  to  use  her  eyes,  and  when 
it  came  to  saying  Ite  missa  est.  she  saw  for  certain  that  no  twin 
brothers  were  ever  more  like  each  other.  Nevertheless,  so  simple 
was  she  that  she  would  fain  have  said,  “  God  preserve  me  from 
believing  my  eyes.”  However,  as  the  matter  was  one  which  so 
deeply  concerned  her  daughter,  she  determined  to  sift  it  to  the 
bottom  and  know  the  truth.  The  husband,  who  had  not  per¬ 
ceived  therni,  having  returned  home,  she  said  to  her  daughter, 
“We  shall  now  know  the  truth  about  your  husband  if  you 
choose.  When  he  is  in  bed  I  will  come  in,  and  you  will  pull  off 
his  coif  from  behind  before  he  is  aware  of  it.  We  shall  see  then 
if  he  is  tonsured  like  the  one  who  said  mass.” 

So  said,  so  done.  The  wicked  husband  was  no  sooner  in  bed 
than  the  old  lady  came  in,  and  todk  him  by  both  hands  as  if  in 
play,  whilst  the  daughter  lifted  up  the  back  of  his  cap,  and  dis¬ 
covered  his  fine  shorn  crown.  Appalled  at  the  sight  they  in¬ 
stantly  called  in  the  domestics,  who  seized  and  bound  him,  and 
kept  him  fast  till  morning,  in  spite  of  all  his  excuses  and  fine 
words,  which  moved  no  one.  Next  morning  the  mother  sent  for 
her  confessor,  under  pretence  that  she  had  some  great  secret  to 
communicate  to  him.  He  came  with  speed,  and  had  no  sooner 
entered  her  doors  than  she  had  him  seized  like  the  other,  up¬ 
braiding  him  with  the  cheat  he  had  put  upon  her.  Alter  this  she 
committed  them  both  into  the  hands  of  justice  ;  and  if  the  judges 
were  honest  men,  it  is  not  likely  that  this  crime  was  left  un¬ 
punished. 

You  see  from  this,  ladies,  that  those  who  take  the  vow  of 
poverty  are  not  exempt  from  being  tempted  by  avarice,  and  this 
is  what  leads  them  to  the  commission  of  so  much  mischief. 

“  Or  rather  of  so  much  good,”  said  Saffredent  ;  “  for  how 
often  did  the  monk  make  good  cheer  with  the  five  hundred 
ducats  which  the  old  woman  would  have  hoarded  ?  Besides, 
the  poor  girl  who  had  longed  so  much  for  a  husband  was  put  by 
his  means  into  a  condition  to  have  two,  and  to  judge  the  better 
of  all  hierarchies." 


518  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

“You  always  entertain  the  falsest  opinions  I  ever  heard,”  said 
Oisille.  “This  comes  of  your  believing  that  the  temperaments 
of  all  women  are  like  your  own.” 

“By  your  leave,  madam,  that  is  not  it,”  said  Saffredent  ;  “and 
I  would  with  all  my  heart  that  women  could  be  as  easily  satisfied 
as  men.” 

“  That  is  a  bad  saying,”  replied  Oisille,  “  fot  there  is  no  one 
here  but  knows  the  very  contrary,  and  that  what  you  say  is  not 
true.  The  tale  we  have  heard  is  a  convincing  proof  of  the  igno¬ 
rance  of  poor  women,  and  the  wickedness  of  those  whom  we 
regard  as  better  than  the  generality  of  men  ;  for  neither  the 
mother  nor  the  daughter  would  do  anything  by  themselves,  but 
submitted  to  the  advice  of  those  whom  they  believed  to  be  wise 
and  good.” 

“  There  are  women  so  hard  to  please,”  said  Longarine,  “  that 
it  seems  as  if  nothing  less  than  angels  will  suit  them.” 

“  Thence  it  comes,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  they  often  meet 
with  devils  ;  and  especially  those  of  them  who,  not  trusting  in 
God’s  grace,  imagine  that  by  their  own  good  sense,  or  by  that  of 
others,  they  shall  find  in  this  world  the  felicity  which  can  only 
come  from  God.” 

“Why,  Simontault !”  exclaimed  Oisille,  “  I  was  not  aware  that 
you  knew  so  much  good.” 

“  Madam,”  replied  he,  “it  is  a  pity  I  am  not  much  tried  and 
proved,  because,  for  want  of  being  known  to  you,  I  see  you  have 
formed  a  bad  opinion  of  me.  I  may  fairly,  however,  practise  a 
Cordelier’s  trade,  since  a  Cordelier  has  put  his  hand  to  mine.” 

“  Then  you  call  deceiving  women  your  trade,”  said  Parla- 
mente  ;  “thus,  out  of  your  own  mouth,  you  condemn  yourself.” 

“  If  I  had  deceived  a  hundred  thousand  of  them,”  he  returned, 
“  I  should  not  yet  have  revenged  myself  for  the  woes  which  one 
alone  of  their  sex  has  made  me  endure.” 

“I  know,”  retorted  Parlamente,  “that  you  complain  per¬ 
petually  of  women  ;  yet  we  see  you  so  merry  and  in  such  good 
case,  that  there  is  no  appearance  of  your  having  suffered  as  much 
as  you  say.  But  the  Fair  Lady  without  Mercy  replies  that  ‘  it 
suits  well  to  say  so,  by  way  of  deriving  some  comfort  from  it.’”* 

“You  quote  a  notable  doctor,”  said  Simontault,  “who  is  not 
only  disagreeable,  but  makes  all  those  ladies  so  who  have  read 
and’followed  his  doctrine.” 

“  Nevertheless,  his  doctrine  is  as  profitable  to  young  ladies  as 
any  I  know,”  rejoined  Parlamente. 

*  A  passage  from  Alain  Chartier’s  poem,  previously  quoted  in  Novel  XI 1 


Novel  57.]  Sixth  Day.  3x9 

Were  it  to  come  to  that,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  the  ladies 
were  without  mercy,  we  might  well  let  our  horses  rest  and  our 
harness  rust  until  the  next  war,  and  do  nothing  but  think  of 
household  affairs.  I  pray  you  tell  me,  is  it  to  a  lady’s  credit 
that  she  should  be  without  pity,  charity,  love,  or  compassion  ?” 

“  Without  charity  or  love,  no,”  replied  Parlamente,  “  that  she 
should  not  be,  but  that  word  compassion  sounds  so  badly  among 
women  that  they  cannot  use  it  without  wronging  their  honour. 
For  what  is  this  pity  or  compassion  ?  It  is  properly  granting 
the  favour  one  asks  for.  Now  we  know  well  what  is  the  favour 
men  usually  crave.” 

“  With  your  good  leave,  madam,”  said  Simontault,  “some 
there  are  so  moderate  that  the  only  favour  they  ask  is  liberty  to 
speak.” 

“  You  remind  me  of  one  who  was  contented  with  a  glove,”  said 
Farlamente. 

“Let  us  know  somethin?  about  a  lover  who  was  so  easy  to 
deal  with,”  said  Hircan. 

••  I  will  tell  you  the  tale  with  pleasure,”  she  replied. 


NOVEL  LVII. 

a  ridiculous  milord  who  wore  a  lady’s  glove  on  his  dress-coat. 

ONSIEUR  DE  MONTMORENCY  was  sent  to  Eng¬ 
land  by  King  Louis  XI.  in  the  capacity  of  ambassador. 
He  conducted  himself  so  well  there  that  he  won  the 
friendship  of  the  king  and  all  the  other  princes,  and 
they  even  communicated  to  him  many  secret  affairs  on  which 
they  wished  to  have  his  advice.  One  day,  when  he  was  at  an 
entertainment  given  by  the  king,  he  was  seated  beside  a  milord 
of  high  family,  who  wore,  fastened  to  his  doublet,  a  small  glove 
such  as  women  use.  The  glove  was  fastened  with  golden  hooks, 
and  the  seams  were  adorned  with  such  a  great  quantity  of 
diamonds,  rubies,  emeralds  and  pearls,  that  the  value  of  the 
glove  was  something  extraordinary.  Monsieur  de  Montmorency 
cast  his  eyes  on  it  so  often  that  the  milord  perceived  he  wished 
to  ask  him  the  reason  of  his  magnificence  ;  and,  thinking  the 
explanation  would  redound  to  his  honour,  he  said  to  the  ambas¬ 
sador,  “  I  perceive,  monsieur,  that  you  are  surprised  I  have  so 
much  enriched  this  poor  glove  ;  but  I  will  tell  you  the  reason. 
I  look  upon  you  as  a  gallant  man,  and  I  am  sure  you  know  what 


5  20  The  Heftameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

love  is.  You  must  know  that  -I  have  all  my  life  loved  a  lady 
whom  I  still  love  and  shall  love  even  after  I  am  dead.  As  my 
heart  Was  bolder  to  make  a  good  choice  than  my  tongue  to 
declare  it,  I  remained  for  seven  years  without  daring  even  to 
show  any  signs  of  loving  her,  for  fear,  if  she  perceived  them,  I 
should  lose  the  opportunities  I  had  of  being  frequently  with  her 
— a  thought  which  terrified  me  more  than  death.  But  one  day, 
being  in  a  meadow  and  gazing  upon  her,  I  was  seized  with  such 
a  palpitation  of  the  heart  that  I  lost  all  colour  and  countenance. 
She  having  noticed  this,  and  asked  me  what  was  the  matter,  I 
replied  that  I  felt  intolerably  sick  at  heart.  Thinking  that  this 
sickness  was  one  in  which  love  had  no  share,  she  expressed  her 
pity  for  it ;  and  that  made  me  to  entreat  that  she  would  put  her 
hand  on  my  heart,  and  see  how  it  beat.  She  did  so,  more  from 
charity  than  affection,  and  as  I  held  her  gloved  hand  on  my 
heart,  its  motions  became  so  violent  that  she  perceived  I  had 
spoken  the  truth.  Then  I  pressed  her  hand  on  my  bosom,  and 
said  to  her,  1  Receive  this  heart,  madam,  which  struggles  to 
escape  from  my  bosom  and  put  itself  in  the  hands  of  her  from 
whom  I  hope  for  grace,  life,  and  pity.  It  is  this  heart,  madam, 
which  now  constrains  me  to  declare  the  love  I  have  long 
cherished  for  you  in  secret,  for  neither  my  heart  nor  I,  madam, 
can  longer  withstand  so  potent  a  god.’  Surprised  at  so  unex¬ 
pected  a  declaration,  she  would  have  withdrawn  her  hand,  but  I 
held  it  so  fast  that  her  glove  remained  with  me  instead  of  that 
crut*l  hand.  As  I  never  had  before  or  since  any  other  approach 
to  nearer  intimacy  with  her,  I  placed  this  glove  over  my  heart 
as  the  fittest  plaister  I  could  apply  to  it.  I  have  enriched  it 
with  all  the  finest  jewels  in  my  possession  ;  but  what  is  dearer 
to  me  than  all  of  them  is  the  glove  itself,  which  I  wrould  not 
give  for  the  realm  of  England,  for  there  is  nothing  I  prize  in  the 
world  so  much  as  to  feel  it  on  my  bosom.” 

The  Seigneur  de  Montmorency,  who  would  rather  have  had  a 
lady’s  hand  than  her  glove,  highly  extolled  his  gallantry,  and 
told  him  he  was  the  most  genuine  lover  he  had  ever  seen,  and 
wrnrthy  of  better  treatment,  since  he  set  so  much  store  by  such  a 
trifle.  “  But,”  said  he,  “  there  is  some  comfort  even  in  ill-luck, 
as  the  proverb  says.  You  were  so  much  in  love  that  if  you  had 
had  something  better  than  the  glove  you  would  perhaps  have 
died  of  joy.”  The  milord  admitted  this  probability,  without  per¬ 
ceiving  that  Monsieur  de  Montmorency  was  making  game  of  him. 

If  all  the  men  in  the  world  were  of  this  character,  the  ladies 


Sixth  Day .  3*1 

might  trust  them,  since  it  would  cost  them  no  more  than  a 
glove. 

“  I  have  been  so  well  acquainted  with  Monsieur  de  Mont¬ 
morency,”  said  Geburon,  “that  I  am  sure  he  would  not  have 
been  so  easily  satisfied  as  the  Englishman,  otherwise  he  would 
not  have  achieved  so  many  successes  as  he  did  in  love  ;  for,  as 
the  old  song  says,  ‘  Of  a  faint  heart  in  love  no  one  hears  any 
good/” 

“  You  may  be  sure  the  poor  lady  withdrew  her  hand  in  great 
haste  when  she  felt  the  agitation  of  the  heart,”  said  Saffredent. 
“  She  thought,  no  doubt,  that  the  milord  was  about  to  expire  ; 
and  there  is  nothing,  they  say,  which  women  abhor  so  much  as 
to  touch  dead  bodies.” 

“  If  you  had  frequented  hospitals  as  much  as  taverns,”  said 
Ennasuite,  “  you  would  not  say  that ;  for  you  would  have  seen 
women  lay  out  dead  bodies  for  burial,  which  men  with  all  their 
boldness  were  often  afraid  to  approach.” 

“  It  is  true,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  there  is  no  one  on  whom 
penance  has  been  imposed  who  has  not  done  the  reverse,  of  that 
which  afforded  him  pleasure  :  witness  a  lady  I  once  saw  in  a 
distinguished  house,  who,  to  compensate  for  the  pleasure  she 
had  taken  in  kissing  a  man  she  loved,  was  found  at  four  o’clock 
in  the  morning  kissing  the  dead  body  of  a  man  who  had  been 
killed  the  preceding  day,  and  for  whom  she  had  never  had  any 
especial  love  more  than  for  another.  Every  one  was  then  aware 
that  she  was  doing  penance  for  her  past  pleasures.” 

“That  is  just  the  way,”  said  Oisille,  “in  which  men  poison  all 
the  good  acts  done  by  women.  My  opinion  is  that  we  ought  to 
kiss  neither  the  living  nor  the  dead,  except  after  the  manner 
which  God  commands.” 

“  For  my  part,”  said  Hircan,  “I  care  so  little  for  kissing  any 
other  woman  than  my  wife,  that  I  willingly  subscribe  to  any 
terms  that  may  be  made  on  the  subject ;  but  I  pity  the  young 
folk  whom  you  would  deprive  of  such  a  small  gratification, 
annulling  the  precept  of  Saint  Paul,  who  ordained  that  people 
should  kiss  in  oscnlo  sa?icto." 

“If  Saint  Paul  had  been  a  man  like  you,”  said  Nomerfide, 
“  we  should  have  demanded  palpable  evidence  of  the  spirit  of 
God  which  spoke  in  him.” 

“To  the  last  you  will  rather  doubt  Holy  Writ  than  give  up  a 
hair’s  breadth  of  one  of  your  petty  ceremonies,”  said  Geburon. 

“God  forbid,”  replied  Oisille,  “  that  we  should  doubt  Holy 
Writ,  though  we  put  little  faith  in  your  lies.  There  is  no  woman 

Y 


J22  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 

but  knows  that  her  proper  creed  consists  in  never  doubting  the 
word  of  God,  and  always  distrusting  that  of  men.” 

“  I  believe,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  there  are  more  men 
deceived  by  women  than  women  deceived  by  men.  Their  want 
of  love  for  us  hinders  them  from  believing  the  truth  ;  whilst  we, 
on  the  contrary,  love  them  to  such  excess,  that  we  readily  believe 
their  falsehoods,  and  find  ourselves  their  dupes  before  we  have 
imagined  the  possibility  of  their  duping  us.” 

“I  suppose,”  said  Parlamente,  “you  have  heard  some  fool 
complain  of  having  been  duped  by  some  light  woman.  In  fact, 
what  you  state  carries  so  little  weight  with  it,  that  it  has  need  of 
being  supported  by  some  example.  So,  if  you  have  one  to 
adduce,  let  us  hear  it.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  we  are  bound 
to  believe  you  ;  but  it  will  not  pain  our  ears  to  hear  you  malign 
us,  for  we  know  the  truth  of  the  matter.” 

“  Well,  that  being  so,”  said  Simontault,  **  you  shall  be  satis¬ 
fied.” 


NOVEL  LVIII. 


How  a  lady  of  the  court  pleasantly  revenged  herself  on  her  faithless  lover. 

T  the  court  of  Francis  I.  a  lady  of  lively  wit,  by  her 
beauty,  her  good  breeding,  and  pleasing  tongue,  had 
won  the  hearts  of  several  gentlemen,  with  whom  she 
contrived  to  pass  the  time  very  well  without  exposing 
her  honour,  playing  with  them  so  pleasantly  that  they  knew  not 
on  what  to  reckon  ;  for  the  most  confident  were  in  despair,  and 
the  most  despairing  were  not  without  hope.  However,  whilst 
making  sport  of  most  of  them,  she  could  not  help  greatly  loving 
one  of  them,  whom  she  called  her  cousin — a  name  which  served 
as  a  pretext  for  a  closer  intimacy.  But,  as  there  is  nothing 
stable  in  the  world,  their  friendship  often  turned  into  anger,  and 
then  again  became  stronger  than  ever,  in  such  wise  that  the 
whole  court  could  not  be  ignorant  of  it.  One  day  this  lady,  in 
order  to  let  it  be  seen  that  she  was  passionless,  as  well  as  to  tease 
him  on  account  of  whose  love  she  had  suffered  much  annoyance, 
showed  him  a  more  gracious  countenance  than  ever  she  had  done 
before.  The  gentleman,  who  was  not  deficient  in  boldness  eithet 
in  war  or  in  love,  began  hotly  to  press  the  suit  he  had  often 
before  addressed  to  her.  She  pretended  she  could  no  longer 
resist,  granted  what  he  asked,  and  told  him  that,  in  order  to  do 
so,  she  would  go  up  to  her  chamber,  which  was  on  a  garret-floor. 


Novel  58.]  Sixth  Day .  323 

where  she  knew  there  was  nobody,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  hef 
go  he  was  to  follow  her  ;  and  then,  as  she  said,  so  graciously 
was  she  disposed  towards  him,  that  he  would  find  her  alone. 

The  gentleman  believed  her,  and  went  with  great  delight  to 
amuse  himself  with  the  other  ladies,  until  he  should  see  her 
depart.  His  fair  one,  who  was  not  deficient  in  any  of  the  sly 
ways  of  women,  went  up  to  Madame  Margaret,  the  king’s 
daughter,  and  the  Duchess  of  Montpensier,  and  said  to  them,  “  I 
will  show  you,  if  you  like,  the  finest  sport  you  have  ever  seen.” 
The  princesses,  who  were  no  friends  to  melancholy,  begged  she 
would  tell  them  what  the  sport  was.  “  There  is  such  a  one, 
whom  you  both  know,”  she  said,  “a  charming  man,  if  there  ever 
was  one,  but  the  most  audacious  in  the  world.  You  know  how 
many  tricks  he  has  played  me  ;  and  you  know,  also,  that  when  I 
loved  him  most  he  quitted  me  for  others  ;  which  vexed  me  more 
than  I  suffered  to  appear.  But  now  God  has  given  me  an  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  be  revenged.  I  am  now  going  to  my  room,  which  is 
overhead  ;  and  if  you  will  watch  you  will  presently  see  him  come 
up  after  me.  When  he  shall  have  passed  the  galleries,  and  is 
about  to  ascend  the  stairs,  go  both  of  you  to  the  window,  help 
me  to  cry  '  Thief  !  thief  1  ’  and  you  will  see  what  a  rage  he  will 
be  in.  1  am  sure  his  anger  will  not  become  him  badly  ;  and  if 
he  does  not  openly  abuse  me,  I  am  sure  he  will  not  fail  to  do  so 
in  his  heart.” 

This  plan  was  agreed  on,  not  without  much  laughter  before¬ 
hand  ;  for  there  was  no  gentleman  who  waged  war  more  on  the 
ladies,  all  of  whom  loved  and  esteemed  him  so  much,  that  for 
nothing  in  the  world  would  they  have  exposed  themselves  to  his 
raillery.  As  soon  as  the  concocter  of  the  plot  had  left  them,  the 
two  princesses,  who  anticipated  a  large  share  in  the  glory  which 
she  was  to  win  from  the  gentleman,  set  themselves  on  the  watch, 
and  when  he  went  out  they  followed  him  into  the  gallery.  There, 
suspecting  nothing,  he  muffled  himself  in  his  cloak  to  hide  his 
face,  and  descended  the  stairs  to  the  court,  but,  seeing  some  one 
by  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  be  observed,  he  traversed  the  court 
and  returned  by  another  way,  all  the  while  without  perceiving 
the  princesses,  who  saw  all  his  movements.  When  he  reached 
the  staircase  leading  to  the  fair  one’s  chamber,  the  princesses 
posted  themselves  at  the  window,  and  presently  they  heard  the 
lady  above  crying  “Thief!  thief !”  with  all  her  might.  The 
two  princesses  repeated  the  cry  so  loudly  that  they  were  heard 
all  over  the  chateau.  I  leave  you  to  imagine  the  vexation  of  the 
gentleman  as  he  ran  away,  not  so  well  muffled  but  that  he  was 


3  24  The  Heptanwon  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

known  by  those  who  were  in  the  secret.  They  often  rallied  him 
on  the  affair  afterwards  ;  nor  did  she  who  had  played  him  the 
trick  spare  him,  but  told  him  to  his  face  that  she  had  well  re¬ 
venged  herself.  But  he  had  such  ready  answers,  and  defended 
himself  so  cleverly,  that  he  would  have  had  them  believe  he  had 
suspected  their  design,  and  that  he  had  only  promised  to  go  to 
the  lady  to  make  sport  of  her  in  some  way,  assuring  them  he 
would  never  have  given  himself  the  trouble  for  her  sake,  for  he 
had  long  ceased  to  love  her.  But  the  ladies  would  not  own 
themselves  defeated  in  that  way,  and  the  affair  is  still  undecided. 

If  he  really  believed  the  lady,  which  is  not  probable,  since  he 
was  so  wary  and  so  bold  that  few  or  no  men  of  his  age  and  time 
surpassed  him,  whereof  his  glorious  death  is  good  evidence,  it 
strikes  me  that  one  cannot  help  admitting  that  gallant  men  who 
are  in  love  are  often  the  dupes  of  ladies  from  excess  of  credulity.* 

“  In  faith,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  I  applaud  the  lady  for  what  she 
did  ;  for  when  a  man  loves  a  lady  and  quits  her  for  another,  she 
can  never  revenge  herself  too  much.” 

“  True,  if  she  is  loved,”  said  Parlamente  ;  “  but  some  there  are 
who  love  without  making  sure  they  are  loved  ;  and  when  they 
perceive  that  their  gallants  love  elsewhere,  they  accuse  them  of 
inconstancy.  But  women  of  discretion  never  suffer  themselves 
to  be  thus  deceived.  They  pay  no  heed  to  anything  but  the 
truth,  for  fear  of  being  exposed  to  the  irksome  consequences  of 
falsehood  ;  for  the  true  and  the  false  talk  the  same  language.” 

“  If  all  women  were  of  your  way  of  thinking,”  said  Simon- 
tault,  “men  might  box  up  their  supplications.  But  for  all  that 
you  and  others  like  you  can  say,  we  will  never  believe  that  women 
are  as  incredulous  as  they  are  fair.  Under  this  conviction  we 
will  live  as  content  as  you  would  wish  to  render  us  uneasy  by 
your  maxims.” 

*  The  Bibliophiles  Francais  surmise  that  the  Queen  of  Navarre  has  made 
herself  the  heroine  of  this  novel.  The  doctrines  she  has  several  times  laid 
down  in  her  epilogues  respecting  love  and  the  relations  of  courtesy  between  the 
sexes,  are  quite  in  harmony  with  what  she  there  says  respecting  the  serviteurs 
whom  a  lady  may  entertain  without  giving  her  husband  any  reason  for  sus¬ 
picion.  Nothing  can  be  conjectured  as  to  the  name  of  the  gallant  o«  whom 
the  trick  was  played. 

In  the  following  novel  Margaret  returns  to  the  same  subject,  and  relates  how 
the  same  lady  contrived  to  convict  her  husband  of  infidelity,  and  force  him  to 
take  her  to  court,  from  which  he  had  removed  her  through  jealousy.  If  we 
compare  this  with  what  is  known  of  Margaret’s  married  life,  the  conjecture  ol 
her  'ast  editors  appears  so  much  the  more  plausible. 


Novel  59.J 


325 


Sixth  Day. 

“  As  I  very  well  know  the  lady  who  played  this  good  trick/ 
said  Longarine,  "  I  can  have  no  difficulty  in  believing  any  sly 
things  that  may  be  attributed  to  her.  Since  she  did  not  spare 
her  own  husband,  it  is  not  likely  that  she  would  spare  her 
lover.” 

“What,  her  husband?”  said  Simontault.  “Then  you  know 
more  than  I  ;  so  pray  tell  us  what  you  know.” 

“I  will,  since  you  wish  it,”  she  replied. 


NOVEL  LIX. 

The  same  lady,  whose  husband  was  jealous  of  her  without  just  cause,  con¬ 
trives  to  detect  him  in  such  a  position  with  one  of  her  women  that  he  is 
obliged  to  humble  himself,  and  allovV  his  wife  to  live  as  she  pleases. 

HE  lady  of  whom  you  ^old  the  tale  was  married  to  a 
man  of  good  and  ancient  family,  whose  fortune  was  not 
inferior  to  his  birth.  Their  marriage  was  solely  the 
result  of  their  mutual  love.  The  wife,  who  was  of  all 
women  in  the  world  the  most  ingenuous,  made  no  secret  of  it  to 
her  husband  that  she  had  lovers,  whom  she  made  game  of,  and 
only  used  for  her  pastime.  Her  husband  had  his.  share  in  this 
pleasure ;  but  in  the  long  run  he  grew  dissatisfied  with  this 
manner  of  proceeding.  On  the  one  hand,  he  took  it  amiss  that 
she  had  long  visits  from  persons  he  regarded  neither  as  relations 
nor  as  friends,  and  on  the  other  he  was  not  pleased  with  the  ex¬ 
penditure  he  was  compelled  to  make  in  attending  the  court.  For 
this  reason  he  retired  to  his  own  house  as  often  as  he  could  ;  but 
he  received  so  many  visits  there  that  his  expenses  were  hardly 
diminished.  Wherever  he  was  his  wife  always  found  means  to 
divert  herself,  whether  with  play,  or  dancing,  or  other  amuse¬ 
ments,  to  which  young  ladies  may  decorously  addict  themselves. 
When  her  husband  sometimes  told  her  that  they  spent  too  much, 
she  would  reply  that  he  might  be  assured  she  would  never  make 
him  a  cuckold,  but  onl)  a  rogue.  In  fact,  she  was  so  fond  of 
magnificence  in  attire,  that  she  insisted  on  having  dresses  as  rich 
and  fine  as  any  seen  at  the  court,  to  which  her  husband  took  her 
as  seldom  as  possible,  notwithstanding  her  eager  desire  to  be 
always  there.  For  this  reason  she  made  herself  so  complaisant 
to  her  husband  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  refused  her  most 
extravagant  requests. 

One  day,  when  she  had  failed  in  all  her  devices  to  induce  him 


326  The  Hep  tamer  on  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

to  take  her  to  court,  she  perceived  that  he  looked  very  w  stfully 
at  a  chambermaid  of  hers,  and  thought  she  might  turn  this 
circumstance  in  some  way  to  her  own  advantage.  She  ques¬ 
tioned  the  girl  in  private,  and  managed  so  cleverly,  by  dint  of 
promises  and  threats,  that  she  made  her  confess  that  since  she 
had  been  in  her  service  not  a  day  had  passed  in  which  her  master 
had  not  made  love  to  her  ;  but  that  she  would  rather  die  than  do 
anything  contrary  to  God  and  her  honour,  the  more  so  as  the 
lady  had  done  her  the  honour  to  receive  her  into  her  service, 
which  would  make  the  crime  double. 

The  lady,  on  learning  her  husband’s  infidelity,  was  at  once 
vexed  and  rejoiced.  She  was  vexed  that  at  the  very  time  when 
he  testified  so  much  regard  for  her,  he  was  furtively  seeking 
means  to  put  an  affront  upon  her  under  her  very  eyes,  and  to 
quit  her  for  a  girl  she  regarded  as  greatly  inferior  to  herself  in 
beauty  and  attractions.  She  was  rejoiced,  because  she  hoped  to 
surprise  her  husband  in  the  fact,  and  to  work  him  in  such  a  way 
that  he  would  never  again  reproach  her  with  her  lovers  or  her 
fondness  for  residing  at  court.  To  this  end  she  begged  the  girl 
to  yield  gradually  to  her  husband’s  solicitations  upon  certain  pre¬ 
scribed  conditions.  The  girl  made  some  objections  ;  but  her 
mistress  having  made  herself  warrant  for  her  life  and  honour, 
she  promised  to  do  whatever  she  pleased. 

The  next  time  the  husband  accosted  the  girl  he  found  her 
quite  changed,  and  pressed  her  to  comply  with  more  than  his 
usual  vivacity ;  but  knowing  her  part  by  rote,  she  represented 
to  him  that  she  was  a  poor  girl,  and  would  become  poorer  than 
ever  if  she  yielded  to  him,  because  she  would  be  dismissed  by 
her  mistress,  in  whose  service  she  hoped  to  save  enough  to  get 
her  a  good  husband.  The  gentleman  replied,  that  she  had  no 
need  to  be  uneasy  on  that  score,  for  he  would  settle  her  better  in 
marriage  than  her  mistress  could  do  ;  and,  moreover,  he  would 
manage  the  intrigue  with  such  secrecy  that  no  one  should  ever 
be  able  to  say  a  word  against  her.  Thereupon  the  bargain  was 
concluded.  When  the  parties  came  to  deliberate  on  the  place 
where  it  was  to  be  sealed,  the  girl  said  she  knew  no  better  place, 
or  less  likely  to  be  suspected,  than  a  little  house  in  the  park,  in 
which  it  happened,  fortunately,  that  there  was  a  chamber  and  a 
bed.  The  gentleman,  who  would  never  have  made  objections  to 
any  place  proposed,  was  quite  satisfied  with  this,  and  awaited 
with  great  impatience  the  day  and  hour  agreed  on. 

.The  girl  kept  her  word  with  ,her  mistress,  told  her  all  that  had 
passed  between  her  master  and  herself,  and  said  that  the  ren- 


Novel  59.]  Sixth  Day .  327 

dezvous  was  for  the  next  day  after  dinner.  She  would  not  fail, 
she  said,  to  give  her  mistress  a  signal  when  it  was  time  for  her 
to  keep  the  appointment,  and  begged  she  would  not  fail  to  notice 
it,  and  be  upon  the  spot  in  time  to  deliver  her  from  the  peril 
to  which  she  exposed  herself  for  her  sake.  The  lady  vowed  she 
might  depend  upon  her,  begged  her  to  have  no  fear,  and  assured 
her  she  would  never  forsake  her,  and  would  perfectly  secure  her 
from  her  master’s  resentment. 

Next  day  after  dinner  the  gentleman  showed  a  fairer  face  to 
his  wife  than  he  had  ever  done  ;  this  was  by  no  means  agreeable 
to  her  ;  but  she  dissembled  so  well  that  he  never  suspected  what 
was  passing  in  her  mind.  When  dinner  was  over,  she  asked 
him  how  he  would  while  away  the  time.  He  said  he  knew 
nothing  better  for  the  purpose  than  to  play  at  cent.*  The  com¬ 
pany  then  sat  down  to  play,  but  she  would  not  be  of  the  party, 
saying  she  would  be  as  much  amused  looking  on.  Before  he  sat 
down  to  play  he  did  not  forget  to  tell  the  girl  to  remember  her 
promise.  The  game  had  no  sooner  begun  than  she  went  out 
of  the  room,  making  a  sign  to  her  mistress  that  she  was 
setting  out  on  the  pilgrimage  she  had  to  make.  The  signal 
was  not  lost  upon  the  wife,  but  the  husband  saw  nothing. 
An  hour  afterwards,  however,  one  of  his  valets  having  made 
him  a  sign  from  a  distance,  he  told  his  wife  he  had  a  headache, 
and  must  go  into  the  open  air  and  rest  a  little.  She  knew 
what  ailed  him  quite  as  well  as  he  did  himself,  and  asked 
him  should  she  hold  his  cards.  He  begged  her  to  do  so,  and 
said  he  would  soon  be  back.  There  was  no  need  to  hurry  him¬ 
self,  she  said,  for  she  could  play  for  two  hours  without  being 
tired.  The  husband  then  retired  to  his  chamber,  and  thence  to 
the  park.  His  wife,  who  knew  a  short  way,  waited  a  little,  and 
then  suddenly  pretending  to  have  the  colic,  she  gave  up  her  hand 
to  another. 

The  moment  she  left  the  room  she  threw  off  her  high  pattens, 
and  ran  as  fast  to  the  place  where  she  did  not  choose  the  bargain 
to  be  concluded  without  her,  and  arrived  in  good  time,  almost  as 
soon  as  her  husband.  She  remained  behind  the  door  to  hear  the 
fine  things  he  said  to  her  servant,  and  when  she  saw  that  he  was 
approaching  the  criminal  point,  she  caught  hold  of  him  behind, 
*nd  said,  “  I  am  too  near  for  you  to  take  another.”  It  is  needless 
to  ask  if  he  was  then  in  a  towering  passion,  both  at  being  frus- 

*  To  play  at  cent.  This  probably  means  the  game  now  called  picquet ;  it  is 
an  old  game,  and  is  among  those  enumerated  by  Rabelais  in  book  i.  ch.  xxii. 
of  Gargantua. 


328  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

trated  of  his  expected  pleasure,  and  at  seeing  that  his  wife,  whose 
good-will  he  was  afraid  of  losing  for  ever,  knew  more  than  he 
would  have  had  her  know.  Believing,  however,  that  it  was  a 
trick  played  upon  him  by  the  girl,  he  ran  at  her  with  such  fury, 
without  speaking  to  his  wife,  that  if  the  latter  had  not  held  his 
hands  he  would  have  killed  her.  He  said,  in  a  transport  of  rage, 
that  she  was  the  worst  baggage  he  had  ever  known,  and  that  if 
his  wife  had  waited,  she  would  have  seen  that  he  only  came  there 
to  try  and  make  a  fool  of  her ;  and  that,  instead  of  what  she 
expected,  he  would  have  given  her  a  flogging.  But  the  wife 
knew  better  than  to  accept  such  flimsy  excuses,  and  rated  him  so 
roundly  that  he  was  greatly  afraid  she  would  leave  him.  He 
made  her  all  the  promises  she  desired,  and  touched  by  her  sage 
remonstrances,  he  confessed  that  he  was  wrong  to  take  it  amiss 
that  she  had  lovers.  He  agreed  with  her  that  a  handsome  and 
respectable  woman  is  not  the  less  virtuous  for  being  loved,  pro¬ 
vided  she  say  and  do  nothing  contrary  to  her  honour  ;  but  that  a 
man  is  unpardonable  who  takes  pains  to  pursue  a  girl  who  does 
not  love  him,  and  to  wrong  his  wife  and  his  own  conscience. 
He  ended  by  promising  that  he  would  no  longer  prevent  her  from 
going  to  court,  nor  ever  take  it  amiss  that  she  had  lovers,  con¬ 
vinced,  as  he  was,  that  she  retained  them  only  for  her  diversion, 
not  for  any  regard  she  had  for  them. 

This  language  was  not  displeasing  to  the  lady,  who  thought 
she  had  gained  a  great  point  ;  however,  she  pretended  quite  the 
reverse,  saying  s’he  did  not  care  to  go  to  court,  and  that  there  was 
nothing  dearer  to  her  than  his  affection,  without  which  all  com¬ 
panies  were  odious  to  her.  A  woman,  she  said,  who  was  loved 
by  her  husband,  and  who  loved  him  as  she  did  hers,  carried  with 
her  a  safe-conduct,  warranting  her  to  speak  with  all  the  world 
and  be  blamed  by  no  one.  The  poor  gentleman  took  such  pains 
to  assure  her  of  the  love  he  cherished  for  her,  that  at  last  they 
went  back  good  friends.  To  avoid  a  recurrence  of  the  mischief, 
he  begged  her  to  dismiss  the  servant  who  had  caused  all  this 
hubbub.  She  did  so  ;  but  it  was  by  marrying  her  well  and 
respectably  at  the  expense  of  her  husband,  who,  to  make  his 
wife  forget  the  prank  he  had  played,  took  her  soon  to  court 
with  such  pomp  and  magnificence  that  she  had  full  reason  to 
be  satisfied. 

This,  ladies,  was  what  made  me  say  I  was  not  surprised  at  me 
trick  she  had  played  on  one  01  her  lovers  after  the  one  I  knew  she 
had  played  on  her  husband. 


Novel  59.]  Sixth  Day .  339 

li  You  have  depicted  to  us  a  very  sly  wife,  and  a  very  stupid 
husband,”  said  Hircan.  “Since  he  had  gone  so  far,  he  ought 
not  to  have  stopped  on  so  fair  a  road.” 

“And  what  should  he  have  done  ?”  inquired  Longarine. 

“What  he  wanted  to  do,”  replied  Hircan,  “  for  his  wife  was 
not  less  angry  at  knowing  what  he  had  intended  to  do  than  if  he 
had  actually  done  it.  Perhaps  she  would  have  liked  him  better 
if  he  had  shown  himself  bolder  and  a  better  fellow.” 

“That’s  all  very  well,”  said  Ennasuite  ;  “but  where  do  you 
find  men  who  can  force  two  women  at  once  ?  The  wife  would 
have  defended  her  rights,  and  the  girl  her  maidenhead.” 

“  That  is  true,”  said  Hircan  ;  “  but  a  strong  and  bold  man 
will  fearlessly  attack  two  weak  persons,  and  be  sure  to  get  the 
better  of  them.” 

“  I  admit  that  if  he  had  drawn  his  sword  he  might  have  killed 
them  both,”  returned  Ennasuite  ;  “  but  I  don’t  see  how  he  could 
have  escaped  from  them  otherwise.  Tell  us,  pray,  what  would 
you  have  done,  had  you  been  in  his  place  ?  ” 

“  I  would  have  thrown  my  arms  round  my  wife  and  carried 
her  out  of  doors,  and  then  I  would  have  done  what  I  pleased  to 
the  servant  by  fair  means  or  by  force.” 

“  It  is  enough,  Hircan,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  you  know  how 
to  do  wrong.” 

“  I  am  sure,  Parlamente,”  he  replied,  “  that  I  do  not  scandalise 
the  innocent  before  whom  I  speak,  or  wish  to  maintain  a  bad 
cause.  I  neither  praise  the  enterprise  which  was  bad  in  itself, 
nor  the  enterpriser  who  stopped  short  half-way  for  fear  rather 
than  for  love.  I  applaud  a  man  who  loves  his  wife  as  God 
ordains  ;  but  when  he  does  not  love  her,  I  do  not  think  the 
better  of  him  for  fearing  her.” 

“Truly,”  returned  Parlamente,  “  if  love  did  not  make  you  a 
good  husband,  what  you  would  do  for  fear  would  be  no  great 
thing,  and  so  I  should  esteem  it.” 

“  The  love  J  have  for  you,  Parlamente,”  said  Hircan,  “  sub¬ 
jects  me  as  much  to  your  wishes  as  the  fear  of  death  and  hell 
could  do.” 

“You  may  say  what  you  will,”  his  wife  replied,  “but  I  have 
reason  to  be  content  with  what  I  have  seen  and  known  of  you. 
As  for  what  I  have  not  known,  I  have  no  wish  to  doubt,  and 
still  less  to  inquire  about  it.” 

“It  is  in  my  opinion,”  said  Nomerfide,  “a  great  folly  in 
women  to  pry  so  curiously  into  what  their  husbands  do  ;  but  it  is 
no  less  a  one  in  husbands  to  want  to  know  every  step  taken  by 


530  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

their  wives.  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,  without 
taking  so  much  thought  for  the  morrow.” 

“Nevertheless  it  is  sometimes  necessary,”  said  Oisille,  “to 
inquire  into  matters  in  which  the  honour  of  a  house  is  concerned  ; 
that  is  to  say,  for  the  purpose  of  setting  things  right,  and  not  from 
a  wish  to  judge  ill  of  persons,  for  everyone  is  liable  to  error.” 

“  Many  have  come  to  mischief  for  want  of  inquiring  into  their 
wives’  freaks,”  said  Geburon. 

“  If  you  know  any  instance  of  the  kind,  pray  tell  it  us,”  said 
Longarine. 

“  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure,”  he  replied,  “  since  you  desire  it.** 


NOVEL  LX. 

A  woman  of  Paris  quits  her  husband  for  one  of  the  king’s  chanters,  counter¬ 
feits  death,  and  is  buried,  but  secretly  disinterred  alive  and  well — Her  husband 
marries  another  wife,  and  fifteen  years  afterwards  is  obliged  to  repudiate 
her,  and  take  back  his  first  wife. 

HERE  was  in  Paris  a  man  so  good-natured  that  he 
would  have  scrupled  to  believe  that  a  man  had  lain  with 
his  wife  though  he  had  seen  it  with  his  own  eyes.  This 
poor  man  married  the  most  profligate  woman  in  the 
world,  but  never  noticed  her  licentiousness,  and  treated  her  as 
though  she  were  the  best  of  wives.  But  one  day,  when  King 
Louis  XII.  was  in  Paris,  this  woman  went  and  gave  herself  up  to 
one  of  that  prince’s  chanters  ;  and  when  she  found  that  the  king 
was  quitting  Paris,  and  that  she  was  about  to  lose  her  lover,  she 
resolved  to  go  with  him  and  quit  her  husband.  The  chanter  had 
no  objection  to  this,  and  took  her  to  a  house  he  had  near  Blois, 
where  they  lived  long  together.  The  poor  husband,  not  finding 
his  wife,  searched  for  her  in  all  directions,  and  learned  at  last 
that  she  had  gone  off  with  the  chanter  Wishing  to  recover  his 
lost  sheep,  which  he  had  badly  guarded,  he  wrote  her  several 
letters,  begging  her  to  return,  and  promising  to  receive  her, 
provided  she  would  lead  a  good  life  for  the  future  ;  but  she  took 
such  pleasure  in  the  chanter’s  singing  that  she  had  forgotten  her 
husband’s  voice,  made  no  account  of  his  fair  words,  and  snapped 
her  fingers  at  him.  The  incensed  husband  then  gave  her  notice 
that  he  would  claim  her  legally  through  the  Church,  since  she 
would  not  return  to  him  of  her  own  accord  ;  whereupon,  fearing 
that  if  justice  meddled  with  the  matter  she  and  her  chanter  would 
come  badly  off,  she  devised  a  scheme  worthy  of  such  a  woman. 


Novel  60.]  Sixth  Day.  331 

She  pretended  to  be  sick,  sent  for  some  worthy  women  of  the 
city  to  visit  her,  and  they  came  the  more  willingly  as  they  hoped 
to  make  her  illness  instrumental  towards  bringing  her  back  from 
her  vicious  ways.  To  this  end  each  of  them  addressed  the  best 
remonstrances  she  could  to  her,  and  the  seemingly  dying  woman 
listened  to  them  with  tears,  confessed  her  sin,  and  played  the  part 
so  well,  that  the  whole  company  had  pity  on  her  believing  her 
tears  and  her  repentance  to  be  sincere.  They  tried  to  console 
the  poor  penitent,  told  her  that  God  was  not  so  terrible  by  a  great 
deal  as  some  indiscreet  preachers  represented  him  to  be,  and 
assured  her  He  would  never  withhold  his  mercy  from  her  ;  and 
then  they  sent  for  a  good  man  to  hear  her  confession.  Next  day 
the  priest  of  the  parish  came  and  administered  to  her  the  holy 
sacrament,  which  she  received  with  so  much  devotion  that  all  the 
good  women  of  the  town  who  were  present  were  moved  with 
tears,  and  praised  the  divine  goodness  for  having  had  pity  on  the 
poor  creature,  Afterwards,  upon  her  feigning  that  she  could  no 
longer  swallow  food,  the  priest  brought  her  extreme  unction, 
which  she  received  with  many  fine  signs  of  devotion  ;  for  she 
could  hardly  speak,  at  least  so  it  was  believed.  She  lay  a  long 
while  in  the  same  state  ;  but  at  last  the  spectators  imagined  that 
she  gradually  lost  her  sight,  her  hearing,  and  her  other  senses, 
whereupon  everybody  began  to  cry,  “  Jesus!  Lord  !  have  mercy  !” 
Night  being  now  at  hand,  and  the  ladies  having  some  way  to  go, 
they  all  retired.  As  they  were  leaving  the  house,  word  was 
brought  them  that  she  had  just  expired.  They  said  a  De  pro- 
fundis  for  her,  and  went  away. 

The  priest  asked  the  chanter  where  he  would  have  her  buried. 
He  replied  that  she  had  expressed  a  wish  to  be  buried  in  the 
cemetery,  and  that  it  would  be  advisable  under  the  circumstances 
that  the  interment  should  take  place  by  night.  The  unfortunate 
woman  was  laic'  out  for  burial  by  a  servant,  who  took  good  care 
not  to  hurt  her  ;  and  then  she  was  carried  by  torchlight  to  the 
grave  which  the  chanter  had  caused  to  be  dug.  When  the  body 
was  carried  past  the  houses  of  those  who  had  seen  the  deceased 
receive  extreme  unction,  they  all  came  out  and  accompanied  her 
to  the  grave,  where  the  priests  and  the  women  left  her,  but  the 
chanter  remained  after  them.  The  moment  he  saw  that  the 
company  were  far  enough  off,  he  and  his  servant  woman  lifted 
the  pretended  dead  woman  out  of  the  grave  more  alive  than  ever, 
and  took  her  back  to  his  house,  in  which  he  kept  her  long  con¬ 
cealed. 

The  husband,  who  was  bent  on  recovering  his  wife,  went 


33  2  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

to  Blois  to  demand  justice,  and  found  that  she  was  dead  and 
buried.  The  fact  was  certified  to  him  by  all  the  ladies  ot 
Blois,  who  related  to  him  what  a  fine  end  she  had  made  ; 
and  greatly  did  the  good  man  rejoice,  believing  that  the  soul 
of  his  wife  was  in  Paradise,  and  himself  disencumbered  of  her 
wicked  body.  He  returned  to  Paris  with  a  glad  heart,  and 
entered  into  a  second  marriage  with  a  respectable  young  woman, 
a  good  housewife,  by  whom  he  had  several  children,  and  with 
whom  he  lived  fourteen  or  fifteen  years.  But  at  last  rumour,  which 
keeps  no  secrets,  informed  him  that  his  first  wife  was  not  dead, 
and  that  she  was  still  with  her  chanter.  The  poor  man  dis¬ 
sembled  as  much  as  he  could,  affecting  to  know  nothing,  and 
heartily  wishing  that  the  rumour  might  be  false  ;  but  his  virtuous 
wife  heard  of  it,  and  was  so  distressed  that  she  almost  died  of 
grief.  Could  she  have  concealed  her  misfortune  without  wound¬ 
ing  her  conscience,  she  would  gladly  have  done  it  ;  but  that  was 
impossible,  for  the  Church  took  up  the  matter  at  once,  and  began 
by  separating  them  until  the  truth  should  have  been  ascertained. 
The  fact  having  been  verified,  the  poor  man  was  constrained  to 
quit  his  good  wife  and  go  after  his  bad  one.  He  came  to  Blois 
shortly  after  Francis  I.  became  king.  He  found  there  Queen 
Claude  and  the  regent-mother,  laid  his  complaint  before  them, 
and  demanded  of  them  her  whom  he  would  fain  not  have  found  ; 
but  he  was  forced  to  seek  her,  to  the  great  pity  of  all  beholders. 

His  wife,  on  being  confronted  with  him,  insisted  for  a  long 
time  that  he  was  not  her  husband  ;  which  he  would  gladly  have 
believed  if  he  could.  Angry  but  unabashed,  she  then  told  him 
she  would  rather  die  than  go  back  to  him.  The  good  man  was 
very  well  satisfied  with  this  declaration  ;  but  the  ladies,  before 
whom  she  spoke  so  impudently,  condemned  her  to  return  to  her 
husband,  and  so  sharply  admonished  and  threatened  the  chanter 
that  he  was  constrained  to  tell  his  ugly  mistress  he  did  not  want 
to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  her,  and  that  she  must  go  back 
to  her  husband.  Thus  repulsed  on  all  sides,  the  wretched  crea¬ 
ture  went  away  with  her  husband,  and  was  better  treated  by  him 
than  she  deserved. 

I  repeat,  ladies,  that  if  the  poor  husband  had  taken  heed  to 
his  wife,  he  would  not  thus  have  lost  her  ;  for  a  thing  well 
watched  is  not  easily  lost,  and  doubtless  the  proverb  is  true, 
which  says  that  negligence  makes  the  thief. 

“It  is  strange,”  remarked  Hircan,  ••strong  love  is  where 
It  seems  least  reasonable.” 


333 


Novel  60.]  Sixth  Day. 

“  I  have  heard,”  said  Simontault,  “  that  one  might  sooner 
break  two  marriages  than  the  love  of  a  priest  and  his  servant.” 

“  I  believe  it,  ”  said  Ennasuite,  “  for  those  who  bind  others  in 
marriage  know  how  to  fasten  the  knot  so  tightly  that  it  is  only 
to  be  undone  by  death  ;  the  doctors,  too,  maintain  that  spiritual 
language  is  more  persuasive  than  other,  and  consequently  spiritual 
love  surpasses  every  other  kind.” 

“I  cannot  pardon  ladies,”  said  Dagoucin,  “who  forsake  a 
welJ-bred  husband  or  lover  for  a  priest,  however  good-looking.” 

“  Leave  our  holy  mother  the  Church  alone,  I  pray  you,”  said 
Hircan,  “and  be  assured  that  it  is  a  great  pleasure  for  poor 
timid  women  to  sin  in  secret  with  those  who  can  absolve  them  ; 
for  some  there  are  who  are  much  more  ashamed  of  confessing  a 
sin  than  of  committing  it.” 

“You  speak  of  such  as  know  not  God,”  said  Oisille,  “and 
imagine  that  secret  things  will  not  be  revealed  before  the  whole 
host  of  Heaven.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  for  sake  of  con¬ 
fession  that  such  women  seek  confessors.  The  enemy  has  so 
blinded  them  that  they  think  much  more  of  settling  down  upon 
a  place  that  seems  to  them  the  most  secret  and  secure,  than  of 
having  absolution  for  the  guilt  of  which  they  do  not  repent.” 

“  Repent,  indeed  !  ”  exclaimed  Saffredent.  “  They  think  them 
selves  much  more  saintly  than  other  women,  and  I  am  sure  that 
there  are  some  who  think  it  a  great  honour  to  them  to  persevere 
in  intrigues  of  this  sort.” 

“  From  the  way  in  which  you  express  yourself,”  said  Oisille, 
“  one  would  think  you  knew  some  such  person.  That  being  the 
case,  I  beg  you  will  begin  the  day  to-morrow  by  telling  us  what 
you  know.  There  goes  the  last  bell  for  vespers ;  for  the  monks 
went  away  after  our  tenth  novel,  and  left  us  to  decide  our  dispute 
between  ourselves.” 

So  saying  she  rose,  and  the  company  following  her  example, 
they  went  to  church,  where  they  found  they  were  waited  for. 
After  vespers  they  supped,  and  not  without  talking  over  several 
fine  tales.  After  supper  they  all  went,  according  to  custom,  to 
divert  themselves  in  the  meadow,  and  then  to  bed,  to  have  their 
memories  clearer  next  day. 


334 


The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 


SEVENTH  DAY. 


ADAME  OISILLE  failed  not  to  administer  to  them  in  the 
morning  the  wholesome  pasture  she  drew  from  the  read¬ 
ing  of  the  acts  and  virtuous  deeds  of  the  glorious  knights 
and  apostles  of  J  esus  Christ,  and  told  them  that  those 
narratives  were  enough  to  fill  one  with  the  wish  to  have  lived  in 
such  times,  and  make  one  deplore  the  deformity  of  this  age  com¬ 
pared  with  that.  After  reading  and  explaining  to  them  the 
beginning  of  that  excellent  book,  she  begged  them  to  go  to  church 
in  the  union  with  which  the  apostles  addressed  their  prayers  to 
Heaven,  and  solicit  the  grace  of  God,  who  never  refuses  it  to  those 
who  ask  for  it  with  faith.  Everyone  thought  the  advice  very  good, 
and  they  arrived  in  church  just  as  the  mass  of  the  Holy  Ghost  was 
beginning.  This  was  so  d  propos  that  they  listened  to  the  service 
with  great  devotion.  Again  at  dinner  the  conversation  turned  on 
the  lives  of  the  blessed  apostles,  and  the  subject  was  so  pleasing 
that  the  company  had  nearly  forgotten  to  return  to  the  rendezvous 
for  the  novels.  Nomerfide,  who  was  the  youngest  of  them,  ob¬ 
served  this,  and  said:  “  Madame  Oisille  has  put  us  so  much  upon 
devotion  that  the  time  for  relating  novels  is  passing  away  without 
our  thinking  of  retiring  to  prepare  our  novels.”  Thereupon  the 
company  rose,  went  for  a  short  while  to  their  respective  chambers, 
and  then  repaired  to  the  meadow  as  they  had  done  the  day  before. 

When  all  were  comfortably  seated,  Madame  Oisille  said  to 
Saffredent,  “  Though  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  say  nothing  to  the 
advantage  of  women,  yet  I  must  remind  you  that  you  promised  us 
a  novel  yesterday  evening  ” 

“  I  stipulate,  madam,”  replied  Saffredent,  “  that  I  shall  not  pass 
or  an  evil  speaker  in  speaking  the  truth,  nor  lose  the  good-will  of 
virtuous  ladies  by  relating  what  wantons  do.  Experience  has 
taught  me  what  it  is  to  be  deprived  of  their  presence,  and  if  I  were 
likewise  deprived  of  their  good  graces,  I  should  not  be  alive  at  this 
moment.” 

So  saying,  he  cast  his  eyes  on  the  opposite  side  to  that  where  sat 
she  who  was  the  cause  of  his  weal  and  woe  ;  but  at  the  same  time 
he  looked  at  Ennasuite,  and  made  her  blush  as  if  what  he  had  said 
was  meant  for  her.  However,  he  was  not  the  less  understood  by 
the  right  person.  Madame  Oisille  having  then  assured  him  he 
might  fairly  speak  the  truth  at  the  cost  of  whom  it  concerned,  he 
began  as  follows. 


Novel  61.] 


Seventh  Day . 


335 


NOVEL  LX I. 

A  husband  became  reconciled  to  his  wife  after  she  had  lived  fourteen 
or  fifteen  years  with  a  canon. 

HERE  lived  near  the  town  of  Autun  a  very  handsome 
woman,  fair  complexioned,  very  tall,  and  of  as  goodly  a 
presence  as  any  woman  I  ever  saw.  She  had  married  a 
respectable  man,  who  seemed  younger  than  herself,  and 
with  whom  she  had  reason  to  be  satisfied.  Shortly  after  their 
marriage  he  took  her  to  Autun,  where  he  had  business.  Whilst 
the  husband  was  engaged  as  a  suitor  in  the  courts  of  justice,  the 
wife  went  to  church  and  prayed  for  him.  She  continued  her  visits 
to  that  holy  place  so  long  that  a  very  rich  canon  fell  in  love  with 
her,  and  took  his  measures  so  well  that  the  poor  wretch  gave 
herself  up  to  him ;  but  the  husband  had  no  suspicion  of  this,  and 
was  more  intent  to  taking  care  of  his  property  than  of  his  wife. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  husband  and  wife  to  return  to  their 
home,  which  was  distant  seven  good  leagues  from  the  town,  great 
was  the  regret  on  her  part.  The  canon  promised  to  go  see  her 
often,  which  he  did  under  pretence  of  journeys,  in  which  he  always 
called  at  their  house.  The  husband  was  not  such  a  fool  as  not 
to  understand  the  canon’s  purpose,  and  accordingly,  when  he 
next  came  there  he  did  not  see  the  wife,  for  her  husband  had 
taken  good  care  to  prevent  it.  The  wife  pretended  not  to  notice 
this  jealousy,  of  which  she  was  well  aware,  but  she  was  bent  on 
counteracting  the  precautions  it  led  to,  deeming  it  a  hell  to  be 
deprived  of  the  sight  of  her  idol.  One  day,  when  her  husband 
was  abroad,  she  gave  her  men  and  women  servants  so  much  to 
do  that  she  remained  alone  and  unobserved  in  the  house.  Imme¬ 
diately,  taking  what  was  necessary  for  her,  and  without  any  other 
company  than  her  extravagant  love,  she  started  off  on  foot  for 
Autun,  where  she  arrived  not  so  late  but  that  she  was  recognised 
by  her  canon,  who  kept  her  close  and  concealed  for  more  than  a 
year,  in  spite  of  all  the  monitions  and  excommunications  launched 
at  him  at  the  husband's  suit. 

Finding  all  other  expedients  fail,  the  husband  laid  his  plaint 
before  the  bishop,  whose  archdeacon,  as  good  a  man  as  any  in 
France,  personally  visited  all  the  houses  of  the  canons,  until  he 
found  the  woman  who  was  supposed  to  be  lost,  committed  her  to 
prison,  and  condemned  the  canon  to  a  heavy  penance.  The  hus¬ 
band,  hearing  that  his  wife  had  been  recovered  by  the  exertions  of 


336  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarrt. 

the  good  archdeacon,  and  of  several  other  worthy  people,  was 
willing  to  take  her  back  upon  her  oath  that,  for  the  future,  she 
would  behave  like  an  honest  woman  ;  an  oath  which  the  simple 
man,  who  loved  her  much,  readily  believed  that  she  would  keep. 
He  took  her  back  into  his  house,  and  treated  her  in  all  respects  as 
before,  except  that  he  gave  her  two  old  servant  women,  one  of  whom 
was  always  with  her  when  the  other  was  elsewhere.  But  for  all 
her  husband’s  good  treatment,  her  extravagant  love  for  the  canon 
made  her  regard  all  her  repose  as  a  torment.  Though  she  was  a 
very  fine  woman,  and  he  a  man  of  strong  and  vigorous  tempera¬ 
ment,  yet  she  had  no  children  by  him,  for  her  heart  was  always 
seven  leagues  away  from  her  body.  Nevertheless,  such  was  her 
dissimulation,  that  her  husband  believed  she  had  forgotten  the 
past,  as  he  had  done  on  his  part ;  but  her  heart  was  too  wicked  to 
be  capable  of  so  happy  and  laudable  a  change. 

At  the  very  time  when  she  saw  that  her  husband  loved  her  most 
and  distrusted  her  least,  she  feigned  illness,  and  carried  on  the 
deception  so  well  that  the  poor  husband  was  in  great  distress  on 
her  account,  and  spared  nothing  for  her  cure.  At  last  he  and  all 
his  household  believed  that  she  really  was  sinking  to  the  grave 
Seeing  that  her  husband  was  as  much  afflicted  at  this  as  he  had 
reason  to  be  rejoiced,  she  begged  he  would  authorise  her  to  make 
her  will ;  which  he  freely  did  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  Having  the 
power  to  make  a  will,  because  she  had  no  children,  she  bequeathed 
to  her  husband  all  she  had  in  her  gift,  beseeching  his  pardon  for 
the  affront  she  had  put  upon  him.  Then  she  sent  for  the  parish 
priest,  confessed,  and  received  the  holy  sacrament  of  the  altar  with 
such  devotion  that  everyone  wept  at  witnessing  so  fine  and  so 
glorious  an  end.  In  the  evening  she  begged  her  husband  to  have 
extreme  unction  brought  her,  and  told  him  she  was  sinking  so  fast 
she  was  afraid  she  should  not  live  to  receive  it.  Her  husband  had 
it  brought  with  the  utmost  speed,  and  she  received  it  with  a  devo¬ 
tion  that  excited  every  one’s  admiration.  After  partaking  of  these 
fine  mysteries,  she  said  to  her  husband  that  since  by  God’s  grace 
she  had  received  all  that  the  Church  had  ordained,  she  felt  her 
conscience  so  calm  that  she  wished  to  repose  a  little,  and  begged 
that  he  would  do  the  same,  seeing  what  great  need  he  had  of  it, 
after  having  wept  and  watched  so  long  beside  her  bed.  The  hus¬ 
band  and  the  men-servants  having  gone  to  sleep,  the  two  old 
women  who  had  kept  guard  over  her  so  long  while  she  was  in  health 
having  now  no  fear  of  losing  her  but  by  death,  went  to  sleep  likewise 
As  soon  as  she  heard  them  snoring  soundly,  she  got  up  in  her  shift 


Novel  6 1.]  Seventh  Day .  337 

and  stole  out  of  the  room,  listening  to  hear  if  there  was  anybody 
stirring  in  the  hou^e.  Finding  all  quiet,  she  passed  out  through  a 
little  garden  door  which  was  not  locked,  and  walked  all  night,  in 
her  shift  and  barefooted,  in  the  direction  of  Autun,  to  repair  to  the 
saint  who  had  hindered  her  from  dying. 

The  road,  however,  was  so  long  that  daylight  overtook  her 
before  she  reached  her  journey’s  end.  Looking  round  then  on  all 
sides,  she  saw  two  men  on  horseback  coming  towards  her  at  full 
gallop,  and  making  no  doubt  that  one  of  them  was  her  husband 
who  was  in  pursuit  of  her,  she  hid  her  whole  body  in  the  mud  of  a 
marsh  and  her  head  between  the  rushes,  and  heard  her  husband 
say  to  his  servant,  as  he  rode  by,  like  a  man  in  despair,  “  O  the 
wicked  wretch  !  Who  would  ever  have  imagined  that  she  would 
have  thought  of  cloaking  such  an  infamous  and  abominable  act 
under  the  holy  sacraments  of  the  Church  ?” 

“  Since  Judas  did  not  scruple  to  betray  his  master  when  par¬ 
taking  of  the  like  food,”  replied  the  servant,  “  can  you  wonder  at  a 
woman’s  betraying  her  husband  in  that  manner  ?” 

The  husband  rode  on,  and  the  wife  remained  among  the  rushes, 
more  joyous  at  having  duped  and  baffled  him  than  ever  she  had 
been  at  home  in  a  good  bed,  where  she  thought  she  was  held 
in  slavery.  The  husband  searched  for  her  all  over  Autun,  but 
having  clearly  ascertained  that  she  had  not  entered  the  town,  he 
retraced  his  steps,  and  on  his  way  did  nothing  but  inveigh  against 
her  and  his  great  loss,  threatening  her  with  nothing  less  than  death 
if  he  caught  her  ;  but  she  was  as  inaccessible  to  fear  as  to  the  sense 
of  cold,  although  the  weather  and  the  place  might  well  have  made 
her  repent  of  her  horrible  journey.  Anyone  who  knew  not  how  the 
fire  of  hell  heats  those  who  are  full  of  it  would  have  wondered  how 
this  woman,  coming  out  of  a  warm  bed,  could  have  endured  such 
severe  cold  for  a  whole  day.  She  did  so,  however,  without  losing 
courage,  and  resumed  her  journey  to  Autun  as  soon  as  night 
came.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  close  the  town  gates  this  pilgrim 
arrived,  and  went  straightway  to  her  saint,  who  was  so  astonished 
to  see  her  in  such  a  trim  that  he  could  hardly  believe  it  was  she. 
After  turning  her  about  and  examining  her  well  on  all  sides,  he 
found  that  she  had  flesh  and  bones,  which  a  spirit  has  not  ;  he  was 
satisfied  she  was  not  a  phantom,  and  they  agreed  so  well  together 
that  she  remained  with  him  for  fourteen  or  fifteen  years. 

For  a  while  she  lived  secluded,  but  at  last  she  lost  all  fear  ;  and 
what  was  worse,  she  prided  herself  so  much  on  the  honour  of 
having  such  a  lover  that  she  took  precedence  at  church  of  most  of 

z 


S3  ^  The  Heptamcron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

the  respectable  women  of  the  town,  the  wives  of  officers  as  well  as 
others.  She  had  children  by  the  canon,  and,  among  others,  a 
daughter,  who  was  married  to  a  rich  merchant  with  so  much 
magnificence  that  all  the  ladies  of  the  town  were  indignant,  but 
had  not  influence  enough  to  correct  such  an  abuse. 

It  happened  at  this  time  that  Queen  Claude,  consort  of  King 
Francis,  passed  through  Autun,  accompanied  by  the  regent-mother 
and  her  daughter,  the  Duchess  of  Alengon.  Then  came  a  femme 
de  chambre  of  the  queen,  named  Perrette,  to  the  duchess,  and  said 
to  her,  “  Hearken  to  me,  madam,  I  beseech  you,  and  you  will  do 
as  good  an  act  as  if  you  went  to  hear  the  service  of  the  day,  or 
even  better.”  The  duchess  willingly  listened,  knowing  that  from  her 
lips  would  come  nothing  but  what  was  meet  to  be  heard.  Perrette 
told  her  how  she  had  engaged  a  little  girl  to  help  her  to  soap  the 
queen’s  linen,  and  that,  on  asking  her  news  of  the  town,  the  girl 
had  told  her  of  the  vexation  felt  by  the  honourable  ladies  thereof 
at  being  obliged  to  yield  precedence  to  this  canon’s  wife,  part  of 
whose  history  she  related  to  her.  The  duchess  immediately  went 
to  the  queen  and  the  regent-mother,  and  repeated  to  them  what 
she  had  heard ;  and  without  other  form  of  process  they  im¬ 
mediately  sent  for  that  wretch,  who  did  not  conceal  herself ;  far, 
indeed,  of  being  ashamed,  she  was  proud  of  the  honour  of  being 
the  mistress  of  the  house  of  so  rich  a  man.  Accordingly,  she 
presented  herself  with  effrontery  before  the  princesses,  who  were 
so  astounded  at  her  impudence  that  at  first  they  knew  not  what 
to  say  to  her  ;  but  afterwards  the  regent-mother  spoke  to  her  in 
terms  that  would  have  drawn  tears  from  any  woman  of  good 
understanding.  Instead,  however,  of  weeping,  the  wretched 
woman  said  to  them,  with  great  assurance  : 

“  I  beseech  you,  mesdames,  not  to  let  my  honour  be  touched  ; 
for,  thank  God,  I  have  lived  with  the  canon  so  well  and  so 
virtuously  that  no  one  can  say  a  word  against  me  on  that  score. 
Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  I  offend  God  ;  for  it  is  three  years 
since  the  good  canon  has  touched  me,  and  we  live  as  chastely  and 
with  as  much  love  as  if  we  were  two  dear  little  angels,  without 
there  ever  having  been  between  us  a  word  or  a  wish  to  the  contrary. 
Whoever,  then,  shall  disunite  us  will  commit  a  great  sin  ;  for  the 
good  man,  who  is  nearly  eighty  years  old,  will  not  live  long  without 
me,  who  am  forty-five.” 

You  may  imagine  what  these  ladies  said  to  her,  and  how  they 
reproved  her  for  her  obduracy  :  but  say  what  they  would  to  her, 
old  as  she  was,  and  illustrious  and  worshipful  as  were  the  persons 


Novel  6 1.]  Seventh  Day.  339 

who  addressed  her,  there  was  no  shaking  her  obstinacy.  To 
humble  her,  the  princesses  sent  for  the  good  archdeacon  of  Autun, 
who  sentenced  her  to  a  year’s  imprisonment  on  bread  and  water 
1  hey  also  sent  for  her  husband,  who,  in  consideration  of  their 
good  exhortations,  promised  to  take  her  back  after  her  penance. 
But  finding  herself  a  prisoner,  and  knowing  that  the  canon  was 
resolved  never  to  take  her  back,  she  thanked  the  ladies  for  having 
taken  a  devil  off  her  shoulders  ;  and  her  repentance  was  so  great 
and  so  perfect  that  her  husband,  instead  of  waiting  the  year’s  end 
to  take  her  back,  did  not  wait  a  fortnight  before  he  claimed  her  of 
the  archdeacon,  and  they  have  since  that  lived  together  in  peac* 
and  harmony. 

You  see,  ladies,  how  wicked  ministers  convert  St.  Peter’s  chains 
into  chains  of  Satan,  so  strong  and  hard  to  break  that  the 
sacraments,  which  cast  out  devils,  are  means  of  retaining  them 
longer  in  the  consciences  of  such  people  ;  for  the  best  things 
become  the  most  pernicious  when  they  are  abused. 

“  Truly  she  was  a  great  wretch,”  said  Oisille,  “  but  no  less  true 
is  it  that  she  was  severely  punished  in  appearing  before  such 
judges.  In  fact,  the  regent-mother’s  mere  look  had  such  a  virtue 
that  there  was  no  good  woman  who  did  not  fear  to  stand  before 
her,  thinking  herself  unworthy  of  her  sight ;  or  who,  if  regarded  by 
her  with  gentleness,  did  not  think  herself  deserving  of  great 
honour,  knowing  that  the  regent-mother  was  one  who  could  not 
look  with  a  favourable  eye  upon  any  but  virtuous  women.” 

“  It  would  be  a  fine  thing,”  said  Hircan,  “  that  one  should  stand 
more  in  awe  of  the  eyes  of  a  woman  than  of  the  holy  sacrament, 
which,  if  not  received  in  faith  and  charity,  is  received  to  eternal 
damnation.” 

“  I  promise  you,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  these  who  are  not 
inspired  of  God  are  more  afraid  of  temporal  than  of  spiritual 
powers.  I  believe,  too,  that  this  wretched  woman  *vas  much  more 
mortified  by  her  imprisonment  and  by  the  loss  of  her  canon  than  by 
all  the  remonstrances  and  rebukes  that  could  be  addressed  to  her.” 

**  But  you  forget  the  principal  thing  that  determined  her  to 
return  to  her  husband,”  said  Simontault,  il  and  that  was  that  the 
canon  was  eighty  years  old,  and  her  husband  was  younger  than 
herself ;  so  the  good  lady  was  a  gainer  on  both  hands.  But  had 
the  canon  been  young,  she  would  never  have  quitted  him  ;  the 
remonstrances  of  the  ladies  would  have  availed  no  more  than  the 
sacraments.” 


340  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

“I  think  she  did  right,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  not  to  confess  her 
sin  too  easily  ;  for  one  should  only  tell  that  sort  of  offence  humbly 
to  God,  and  deny  it  stoutly  before  men,  since,  though  the  thing 
be  true,  by  dint  of  lying  and  swearing  one  throws  doubt  on  its 
truth.” 

“  It  is  difficult,  however,  for  a  sin  to  be  so  secret  as  never  to  come 
to  light,”  said  Longarine,  “unless  God  himself  conceals  it  for  sake 
of  those  who  repent  of  it  truly  for  love  of  Him.” 

“  What  would  you  say  of  women,”  said  Hircan.  “  who  have  no 
sooner  committed  a  folly  than  they  go  and  tell  it  ?” 

“  The  thing  seems  so  surprising,”  said  Longarine,  “  that  it  seems 
tome  a  token  that  they  do  not  dislike  the  sin.  T  have  already  said 
that  the  sin  which  is  not  covered  by  the  grace  of  God  can  hardly 
be  denied  before  men.  There  are  many  who  take  pleasure  in 
talking  of  such  things,  and  glory  in  publishing  their  vices,  and 
others  who  accuse  themselves  by  self-contradiction.” 

“That  is  a  very  clumsy  kind  of  self-contradiction,”  said  Saffre- 
dent,  “but  if  you  know  any  example  of  it,  I  beg  you  will  relate  it.” 

“  Hearken,  then,”  said  Longarine. 


NOVEL  LXII. 

A  lady  recounting  an  adventure  of  gallantry  that  had  occurred  to  herself,  ana 
speaking  in  the  third  person,  inadvertently  betrayed  her  own  secret. 

N  the  time  of  King  Francis  I.  there  was  a  lady  of  the 
blood  royal  who  had  honour,  virtue,  and  beauty,  and 
who  knew  how  to  tell  a  story  with  grace,  and  also  to 
laugh  at  a  good  one  when  she  heard  it.*  This  lady, 
being  at  one  of  her  houses,  was  visited  by  all  her  dependents 
and  neighbours,  by  whom  she  was  greatly  beloved.  Among 
other  visits  she  received  one  from  a  certain  lady,  who,  seeing 
that  everyone  told  the  princess  tales  to  divert  her,  wished  to 
do  like  the  rest,  and  said,  “  I  have  a  good  story  to  tell  you, 
madam  ;  but  you  must  promise  not  to  speak  of  it.  It  is  quite  true, 
and  I  can  conscientiously  give  it  you  as  such. 

“  There  was  a  married  lady  who  lived  on  very  creditable  terms 
with  her  husband,  though  he  was  old  and  she  young.  A  gentleman 
in  her.  neighbourhood,  seeing  she  had  married  this  old  man,  fell  in 
love  with  her,  and  solicited  her  for  several  years,  but  she  only 

*  The  lady  of  the  Mood  royal  whom  Margaret  eulogises  so  highly  was 
probably  her  mother,  who  was  very  fond  of  hearing  all  sorts  of  court  gossip. 


■ 


I 


» 


Novel  62.]  Seventh  Day .  341 

* 

replied  to  him  as  became  a  virtuous  woman.  One  day  it  occurred 
to  the  gentleman  that  if  he  could  come  upon  her  at  a  moment  ad« 
vantageous  to  himself,  she  would  perhaps  not  be  so  cruel.  After 
he  had  long  weighed  the  danger  to  which  he  exposed  himself,  love 
smoothed  over  all  difficulties,  dissipated  his  fear,  and  determined 
him  to  seek  time  and  opportunity.  Keeping  good  watch  for  intelli¬ 
gence,  he  learned  that  the  lady’s  husband  was  going  away  to  another 
of  his  houses,  and  intended  to  set  out  at  daybreak  to  avoid  the  heat, 
whereupon  he  repaired  to  the  lady  and  found  her  asleep  in  bed. 
Seeing  that  the  maid-servants  were  not  in  the  chamber,  he  got  into 
the  lady’s  bed,  booted  and  spurred  as  he  was,  without  having  had 
the  wit  to  lock  the  door.  She  awoke,  and  was  very  much  vexed  to 
see  him  there  ;  but  in  spite  of  all  her  remonstrances  there  was  no 
stopping  him — he  violated  her,  and  threatened,  if  she  made  a  noise, 
to  tell  everybody  she  had  sent  for  him  ;  which  frightened  her  so 
much  that  she  durst  not  crv  out.  One  of  the  servants  came  back 
some  moments  afterwards  into  the  chamber.  The  gentleman 
jumped  up  with  such  celerity  that  she  would  have  noticed  nothing, 
if  his  spur  had  not  stuck  in  the  top  sheet,  and  carried  it  clean  off 
the  bed,  leaving  the  lady  quite  naked.” 

So  far  the  lady  had  told  her  story  as  if  of  another  :  but  here  she 
could  not  help  saying  : 

“  Never  was  woman  more  astonished  than  I  when  I  found  myself 
thus  naked.” 

The  princess,  who  had  listened  to  the  whole  tale  without  a  smile, 
could  not  then  restrain  her  laughter,  and  said,  “  I  see  you  were 
quite  right  in  saying  you  knew  the  story  to  be  true.”  The  poor 
lady  tried  hard  to  mend  the  matter  ;  but  there  was  no  possibility  of 
finding  a  good  plaister  for  it. 

I  assure  you,  ladies,  if  the  act  had  given  her  real  pain  she  would 
have  been  glad  to  have  lost  the  recollection  of  it  ;  but  as  I  have 
already  said,  sin  is  sure  to  discover  itself  unless  it  be  covered  by 
the  mantle  which,  as  David  says,  makes  man  blessed. 

“  Truly,  of  all  the  fools  I  ever  heard  of  this  was  the  greatest,  to 
set  others  laughing  at  her  own  expense,”  said  Ennasuite. 

“  I  am  not  surprised  that  speech  follows  action,”  said  Parlamente  : 
“  for  it  is  easier  to  say  than  to  do.” 

u  Why,”  j  lid  Geburon,  “  what  sin  had  she  committed  ?  She  was 
asleep  in  her  bed,  and  he  threatened  her  with  death  and  infamy. 
Lucretia,  who  has  been  so  much  lauded,  did  quite  as  much.” 

“  It  is  true,”  said  Parlamer  :,  “  there  is  no  righteous  person  who 


$4*  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

may  not  fall ;  but  when  one  has  felt  at  the  instant  great  disgust  at 
one’s  fall,  one  remembers  it  only  with  horror.  To  efface  its  memory 
Lucretia  killed  herself ;  but  this  wonton  chose  to  make  others 
laugh  at  it  in  her  own  case.” 

“  It  seems  to  me,  nevertheless,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  that  she  was  a 
good  woman,  since  she  was  urgently  solicited  several  times,  but 
would  not  consent.  Accordingly,  the  gentleman  was  obliged  to  use 
fraud  and  violence  in  order  to  succeed.” 

“  What !  ”  said  Parlamente,  “  do  you  suppose  that  a  woman’s 
honour  is  spotless  when  she  succumbs  after  two  or  three  refusals  ? 
At  that  rate  there  would  be  many  a  woman  of  honour  among  those 
who  are  regarded  as  having  none.  Plenty  of  women  have  been 
known  for  a  long  time  to  repulse  him  to  whom  their  hearts  were 
already  given.  Some  do  it  because  they  fear  infamy ;  others  to 
make  themselves  the  more  loved  and  esteemed  by  a  feigned 
resistance.  A  woman,  therefore,  ought  not  to  be  held  in  any  con¬ 
sideration  unless  she  remains  firm  to  the  end.” 

“  If  a  young  man  were  to  refuse  a  handsome  girl,”  said  Dagoucin 
“  would  you  not  regard  that  as  a  great  act  of  virtue  ?  ” 

“  Assuredly,”  said  Oisille,  “  if  a  young  man  in  good  health  made 
such  a  refusal,  I  should  think  the  act  very  laudable,  but  not  hard 
to  believe.” 

“  I  know  some,”  said  Dagoucin,  w  who  have  refused  adventures 
which  all  their  comrades  sought  for  with  avidity.” 

“  Pray  take  my  place,”  said  Longarine,  “  and  tell  us  what  you 
know  in  that  way  ;  but  recollect  that  we  are  pledged  to  speak  the 
truth.” 

“  I  promise  to  tell  it  you,”  said  Dagoucin,  “  without  cover  or 
disguise.”  1 


NOVEL  LXIII. 

Notable  chastity  of  a  French  lord. 

HERE  were  in  Paris  four  girls,  two  of  whom  were  sister^ 
so  handsome,  so  young,  and  so  fresh,  that  they  had  the 
choice  of  all  the  gallants.  The  gentleman  whom  the 
king  then  reigning  had  made  provost  of  Paris,  seeing 
that  his  master  was  young,  and  of  an  age  to  desire  such  company, 
managed  so  dexterously  with  the  four,  making  each  of  them 
believe  that  she  was  for  the  king,  that  they  consented  to  what  the 
provost  desired.  This  was  that  they  should  all  be  present  at  a 
banquet  to  which  he  invited  his  master,  communicating  to  him  his 


Novel  63.]  Seventh  Day.  343 

design,  which  was  approved  by  the  king,  and  by  two  great  lords  of 
the  court,  who  were  not  sorry  to  have  a  finger  in  the  pie.  While 
they  were  at  a  loss  for  a  fourth,  in  came  a  young  lord,  a  handsome, 
well-bred  man,  and  younger  by  ten  years  than  the  others.  He  was 
at  once  invited  to  the  treat,  and  accepted  the  invitation  with  a  good 
grace,  though  in  reality  he  had  no  mind  for  it,  for  two  reasons. 
He  had  a  wife  with  whom  he  was  very  happy,  who  bore  him  fine 
children  ;  and  they  lived  so  tranquilly  together  that  for  no  con¬ 
sideration  would  he  have  given  her  cause  to  suspect  him.  Besides, 
he  loved  one  of  the  handsomest  ladies  then  in  France,  and 
esteemed  her  so  much  that  all  others  seemed  ugly  to  him  in  com¬ 
parison  with  her ;  so  that  in  his  early  youth,  and  before  he  was 
married,  there  was  no  means  of  making  him  see  and  frequent 
other  women,  however  fair,  for  he  had  more  pleasure  in  seeing  his 
mistress,  and  loving  her  perfectly,  than  he  could  have  had  from 
all  he  could  have  obtained  of  another. 

This  young  lord  went  to  his  wife,  told  her  what  the  king  had  in 
view,  and  said  he  would  rather  die  than  do  what  he  had  promised. 
“As  there  is  no  man,”  he  said,  “  whom  I  would  not  dare  to  attack 
in  anger,  so  I  would  rather  die  than  commit  a  murder  in  cold 
blood,  unless  honour  compelled  to  it.  In  like  manner  I  would 
rather  die  than  violate  conjugal  fidelity  at  another's  caprice,  unless 
extreme  love,  such  as  blinds  the  best,  extorted  such  a  violation 
from  me.” 

His  wife,  seeing  in  him  so  much  virtue  with  so  much  youth, 
loved  him  more  than  ever,  and  asked  him  how  he  could  excuse 
himself,  seeing  that  princes  often  take  it  amiss  that  others  do  not 
applaud  what  they  like.  “  i  have  heard  say,”  he  replied,  “  that 
the  wise  man  is  always  ready  at  a  ciitical  moment  with  an  illness 
or  a  journey.  So  I  intend  to  be  sick  four  or  five  days  beforehand  ; 
and,  provided  you  play  the  sorrowing  wife,  I  trust  I  shall  get  out  of 
the  scrape.” 

“  That  is  what  one  may  call  a  good  and  holy  hypocrisy, said 
his  wife.  “  I  will  not  fail  to  wear  as  sad  a  face  as  possible  ;  for 
one  is  very  fortunate  when  one  can  avoid  offending  God  and 
provoking  the  sovereign's  resentment.” 

So  said,  so  done  ;  and  the  king  was  very  sorry  to  hear  through 
the  wife  of  the  husband’s  illness,  which,  however,  was  not  of  long 
duration.  Certain  affairs  having  then  supervened  to  claim  the 
king's  attention,  he  forgot  his  pleasure  to  think  of  his  duty,  and 
suddenly  quitted  Paris.  One  day,  recollecting  his  unfulfilled  pro¬ 
ject,  he  said  to  the  young  prince,  u  We  were  great  fools  to  quit  Paris 


344  The  Hepiameroh  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

with  such  haste  as  not  to  have  seen  the  four  girls  who  have  been 
represented  to  us  as  the  handsomest  in  my  realm.” 

“  1  am  very  glad,”  replied  the  prince,  “  that  you  have  not  done 
so,  for  I  was  greatly  afraid  during  my  illness  that  I  alone  should 
lose  such  a  good  fortune.” 

The  king  never  suspected  the  dissimulation  of  the  young  lord, 
who  thenceforth  was  more  beloved  by  his  wife  than  ever.* 

Parlamente  burst  out  laughing,  and  said,  “  He  would  have 
shown  his  love  for  his  wife  much  more  if  he  had  done  it  for  her 
sake  only  ;  but,  in  any  point  of  view,  such  conduct  was  certainly 
most  commendable.” 

“  It  seems  to  me  no  such  great  merit  in  a  man  to  be  chaste  for 
his  wife’s  sake,”  said  Hircan.  “  He  is  bound  to  it  by  so  many 
reasons  that  he  can  hardly  do  otherwise.  In  the  first  place,  God 
commands  it ;  he  is  pledged  to  it  by  his  marriage  vow  ;  and  be¬ 
sides,  the  satiated  appetite  is  not  subjected  to  temptation  like  the 
craving  one.  But  for  the  free  love  one  cherishes  for  a  mistress 
whom  one  does  not  enjoy,  obtaining  from  her  no  other  pleasure 
than  that  of  seeing  and  speaking  to  her,  and  often  nothing  but 
mortifying  replies,  when  this  love  is  so  faithful  and  so  constant 
that  it  will  not  change,  happen  what  may,  then  1  maintain  that 
chastity  displayed  on  occasions  of  this  sort  is  not  only  laudable 
but  miraculous.” 

“It  is  no  miracle,”  said  Oisille,  “for  when  the  heart  is  devoted, 
nothing  is  impossible  for  the  body.” 

“  Yes,  for  angelic  bodies,”  observed  Hircan. 

“  I  do  not  mean  to  speak  only  of  those  who  by  God’s  grace  are 
ail  transmuted  into  him,”  said  Oisille,  “but  also  of  the  most  carnal 
among  men  ;  and  if  you  examine,  you  will  find  that  those  who 
have  set  their  hearts  and  affections  on  seeking  perfection  in  the 
sciences  have  not  only  forgotten  the  delights  of  the  flesh,  but  even 
things  which  are  most  necessary  to  nature,  such  as  food  and  drink. 
In  fact,  as  long  as  the  soul  is  in  the  body  by  affection,  the  flesh 
remains,  as  it  were,  insensible.  Thence  it  comes  that  those  who 
love  handsome  and  virtuous  women  take  such  delight  in  seeing 
and  hearing  them  speak  that  the  flesh  then  suspends  all  its 
desires.  Those  who  cannot  experience  this  contentment  are 

*  This  novel  is  wanting  in  the  edition  of  1558,  published  by  Boaistuau  ;  it 
appeared  for  the  first  time  in  that  of  Gruget  in  1559.  The  king  who  figures  in 
it  is  Francis  I.  ;  and  the  gentleman  whom  the  king  had  made  provost  of  Paris 
is  Jean  de  la  Barre,  who  is  mentioned  in  Novel  I. 


Novel  64.]  Seventh  Day.  345 

carnal  persons,  who,  enveloped  in  too  much  fat,  know  not  whether 
they  have  a  soul  or  not ;  but  when  the  body  is  subjected  to  the 
spirit,  it  is  almost  insensible  to  the  imperfections  of  the  flesh,  so 
that  the  strong  persuasions  of  persons  of  this  character  may 
render  them  insensible.  I  knew  a  gentleman  who,  to  show  that 
his  love  for  his  mistress  surpassed  any  other  man’s,  was  willing  to 
give  proof  of  this  by  holding  his  bare  fingers  over  the  flame  of  a 
candle.  He  had  his  eyes  bent  on  his  mistress  at  the  same  moment, 
and  he  bore  the  fire  with  such  fortitude  that  he  burnt  himself  to 
the  bone  ;  and  yet  he  said  that  he  felt  no  pain.” 

“  Methinks,”  said  Geburon,  “that  the  devil  to  whom  he  was  a 
martyr  ought  to  make  a  St.  Lawrence  of  him,  for  there  are  few 
who  endure  such  a  great  fire  of  love  as  not  to  fear  that  of  the 
smallest  taper.  If  a  lady  had  put  me  to  so  severe  g.  trial,  I  should 
demand  a  great  recompense  of  her ;  or,  failing  it,  I  should  cease 
to  love  her.” 

“  You  would  then  insist  on  having  y^ur  hour  after  your  misVess 
has  had  hers,”  said  Parlamente.  “  So  did  a  Spanish  gentleman 
of  Valencia,  whose  story  was  related  to  me  by  a  very  worthy 
commander.” 

“  Pray  take  my  place,  madam,  and  tell  it  us,”  said  Dagoucin, 
“  for  I  suspect  it  is  a  good  one.” 

“  The  story  I  am  going  to  relate,  ladies,”  said  Parlamente,  “  will 
make  you  think  twice  before  you  refuse  a  good  offer,  and  not  trust 
that  the  present  state  of  things  will  last  for  ever.  You  shall  see 
that  it  is  subject  to  change  ;  and  that  will  oblige  you  to  have  a 
care  for  the  future.” 


NOVEL  LX IV. 

A  gentleman,  having  been  unable  to  marry  a  person  he  loves,  becor  e*  a 
Cordelier  in  despite — Sore  distress  of  his  mistress  thereat. 

Bf^^lHERE  was  in  Valencia  a  gentleman  who  for  five  or  six 
!*p|l  years  had  loved  a  lady  with  so  much  propriety  that  the 
ayy|  honour  and  conscience  of  neither  had  suffered  any 
blemish.  The  gentleman’s  intention  was  to  marry  her-.- 
an  intention  the  more  reasonable  as  he  was  handsome,  rich,  and 
of  good  family.  Before  engaging  in  the  lady’s  service,  he  had  an 
explanation  with  her  on  the  subject  of  marriage,  respecting  which 
she  referred  him  to  her  relations.  They  assembled  to  consider 
the  question,  and  resolved  that  the  match  was  a  very  suitable  one 


346  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

provided  the  young  lady  was  willing.  But  she,  whether  thinking 
to  do  better,  or  willing  to  dissemble  her  love  for  the  gentleman, 
started  so  many  objections  that  the  assembly  broke  up,  regretting 
that  they  had  not  been  able  to  bring  the  affair  to  a  conclusion, 
advantageous  as  it  would  have  been  on  both  sides.  The  most 
sorely  disappointed  of  all  was  the  poor  lover,  who  would  have 
borne  his  rejection  with  patience  if  he  could  have  persuaded  him¬ 
self  that  it  was  not  the  maiden’s  fault,  but  her  relations’.  But  as 
the  truth  was  well  known  to  him,  his  affliction  was  so  extreme  that, 
without  speaking  to  his  mistress  or  anyone,  he  went  home,  and, 
after  setting  his  affairs  in  order,  retired  to  a  deserted  soot  to  try  to 
forget  his  love,  and  turn  it  wholly  towards  our  Lord,  to  whom  he 
was  more  bound  in  gratitude  than  to  his  mistress. 

During  his  abode  there  he  heard  nothing  from  the  lady  or  her 
relations,  and  resolved,  after  having  missed  the  happiest  life  he 
could  have  hoped  for,  to  choose  the  most  austere  and  disagreeable 
he  could  imagine.  In  this  dismal  state  of  mind,  which  might  well 
be  called  despair,  he  betook  himself,  with  a  view  to  becoming  a 
monk,  to  a  Franciscan  monastery,  which  was  not  far  from  the  resi¬ 
dence  of  several  of  his  relations.  As  soon  as  they  were  aware  of 
his  purpose,  they  did  all  they  could  to  dissuade  him  from  it,  but 
his  resolution  was  so  fixed  that  nothing  could  shake  it.  As  the 
cause  of  the  mischief  was  known  to  them,  they  sought  a  remedy 
at  the  hands  of  her  who  had  given  occasion  to  such  a  precipitate 
fit  of  devotion.  She  was  greatly  surprised  and  distressed  at  this 
news ;  and  as  her  intention  had  only  been  to  try  her  lover’s 
fervour  by  refusing  him  for  a  while,  and  not  to  lose  him  for  ever, 
as  she  saw  she  was  about  to  do,  she  wrote  him  a  letter  earnestly 
beseeching  him  to  forego  his  dismal  resolution,  and  return  to  her 
who  loved  him,  and  was  ready  to  be  wholly  his  own,  as  she  had 
always  desired  to  be,  even  when  she  affected  coyness  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  proving  the  sincerity  of  his  love,  whereof  she  was  now 
fully  convinced. 

This  letter,  conveyed  by  one  of  her  friends,  who  was  charged 
to  accompany  it  with  all  possible  remonstrance,  was  received  by 
the  gentleman  Cordelier  with  so  sad  a  countenance,  and  with  so 
many  tears  and  sighs,  that  it  seemed  as  though  he  would  fain  have 
drowned  and  burned  the  poor  paper.  His  only  reply  was  t«  tell 
the  bearer  that  the  mortification  of  his  excessive  passion  had  cost 
him  so  dear  that  it  had  taken  from  him  the  wish  to  love  and  the 
fear  to  die.  That  being  the  case,  he  begged  her  who  was  the  occa¬ 
sion  of  it,  and  who  had  not  chosen  to  respond  to  his  passion  to 


AW/  64.]  Seventh  Day .  347 

• 

torment  him  no  more  now  that  he  had  overcome  it.  and  to  content 
herself  with  the  harm  she  had  already  done  him.  “  I  could  find 
no  other  remedy,”  he  said,  “than  the  austere  life  I  have  chosen. 
Continual  penance  makes  me  forget  my  grief.  I  so  weaken  my 
body  by  fastings  and  castigations  that  the  thought  of  death  is  for 
me  a  sovereign  consolation.  Let  her,  then,  who  sends  you  to  me, 
spare  me,  I  entreat,  the  misery  of  hearing  her  mentioned,  for  the 
mere  recollection  of  her  name  is  to  me  an  intolerable  purgatory.” 

The  bearer  returned  with  this  unwelcome  reply,  and  reported  it 
to  her  who  had  sent  him.  It  was  with  inconceivable  regret  she 
heard  it  :  but  love,  which  will  not  suffer  the  spirit  to  be  utterly  cast 
down,  put  it  into  her  head  that  if  she  could  see  him  she  would 
effect  more  by  her  eyes  and  her  tongue  than  she  had  by  her  pen. 
She  went  then  to  the  monastery,  accompanied  by  her  father  and  her 
nearest  relations.  She  had  omitted  nothing  that  she  thought  could 
set  off  her  beauty,  in  the  belief  that,  if  he  once  saw  her  and  heard 
her,  it  was  impossible  but  that  a  fire  so  long  cherished  should 
kindle  up  more  strongly  than  ever.  She  entered  the  monastery 
towards  the  end  of  vespers,  and  sent  for  him  to  meet  her  in  a 
chapel  of  the  cloisters.  Not  knowing  who  wanted  him,  he  obeyed 
the  summons,  and  went  to  encounter  the  rudest  shock  he  had  ever 
sustained.  He  was  so  pale  and  worn  that  she  could  hardly  recog¬ 
nise  him  ;  nevertheless,  as  he  seemed  to  her  as  comely  and  as 
lovable  as  ever,  love  constrained  her  to  stretch  out  her  arms,  think¬ 
ing  to  embrace  him  ;  but  she  was  so  touched  by  the  sad  state  in 
which  he  appeared,  and  the  idea  of  it  caused  such  a  sinking  at  the 
heart,  that  she  fainted  away.  The  good  monk,  who  was  not  desti¬ 
tute  of  brotherly  charity,  raised  her-up,  and  seated  her  on  a  bench 
in  the  chapel.  Though  he  had  not  less  need  of  aid  than  she,  he 
nevertheless  affected  to  ignore  her  passion,  fortifying  his  heart  in 
the  love  of  his  God  against  the  present  opportunity,  and  he  suc¬ 
ceeded  so  well  that  he  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  what  was 
before  his  eyes. 

Recovering  from  her  weakness,  and  turning  upon  him  eyes 
so  lovely  and  so  sad  that  they  might  have  softened  a  rock,  the 
maiden  said  everything  she  could  think  of  as  most  likely  to  per¬ 
suade  him  to  quit  that  place.  To  all  her  arguments  and  entreaties 
he  made  the  best  replies  he  could  ;  but  at  last,  finding  that  his 
heart  was  beginning  to  yield  to  his  mistress’s  tears,  and  seeing  that 
Love,  whose  cruelty  he  had  long  experienced,  had  in  its  hand 
a  gilded  arrow  ready  to  inflict  on  him  a  new  and  mortal  wound,  he 
fled  from  Love  and  from  his  mistress,  as  his  only  means  of  safety 


34  8  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre 

Shut  up,  then,  in  his  cell,  and  unable  to  let  her  depart  in  that 
uncertainty,  he  wrote  her  a  few  words  in  Spanish,  which  appear  to 
me  so  expressive  that  I  will  not  translate  them  for  fear  of  im¬ 
pairing  their  grace  :  Volved  donde  veniste  anima  mi,  que  en  /as 
tristes  vidas  es  la  mia  *  The  lady,  seeing  from  this  that  no  hope 
remained,  resolved  to  follow  his  advice  and  that  of  her  friends,  and 
returned  home,  to  lead  a  life  as  melancholy  as  that  of  her  lover  in 
his  monastery  was  austere. 

You  see,  ladies,  how  the  gentleman  revenged  himself  on  his 
rigorous  mistress,  who,  intending  only  to  try  him,  drove  him  to 
such  despair  that,  when  she  would  have  relented  towards  him,  it 
was  too  late. 

“  I  am  sorry  he  did  not  throw  off  the  grey  gown  and  marry  her,” 
said  Nomerfide.  “Theirs,  I  think,  would  have  been  a  perfectly 
happy  marriage.” 

“  In  faith,  I  think  he  did  very  wisely,”  said  Simontault ;  “  for 
all  who  have  well  considered  the  inconveniences  of  marriage  are 
agreed  that  there  are  none  greater  in  the  austerities  of  the  monastic 
life.  As  he  was  already  weakened  by  fastings  and  abstinences,  he 
was  afraid  to  load  himself  with  a  burden  he  would  have  been 
obliged  to  bear  all  his  life  long.” 

u  She  did  wrong,  I  think,  by  so  weak  a  man,”  said  Hircan,  “  to 
tempt  him  by  a  proposal  of  marriage,  since  that  is  a  matter  in 
which  the  most  vigorous  and  robust  find  themselves  hard  bestead. 
But  if  she  had  talked  to  him  of  an  intimacy  free  from  all  but  volun¬ 
tary  obligation,  there  was  no  knot  but  would  have  been  untied. 
But  since,  byway  of  drawing  him  out  of  purgatory,  she  offered  him 
a  hell,  I  maintain  that  he  was  right  to  refuse,  and  make  her  feel  the 
pain  which  her  refusal  had  caused  him.” 

“  Many  there  are,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  who,  thinking  to  do  better 
than  others,  do  either  worse,  or  the  reverse  of  what  they  had  ex¬ 
pected.” 

“  Truly  you  put  me  in  mind,”  said  Geburon,  “  though  the  fact  is 
not  quite  to  the  point,  of  a  woman  who  did  the  contrary  of  what 
she  intended,  which  was  the  cause  of  a  great  tumult  in  the  church 
of  Saint  Jean  de  Lyon.” 

“  Pray  take  my  place,”  said  Parlamente,  “  and  tell  us  the  story.” 

**  Mine  will  be  neither  so  long  nor  so  sad  as  yours,”  he  replied. 

•  "Return  whence  thou  earnest,  my  soul,  for  among  the  sad  lives  is  mine.' 


Novel  65.]  Seventh  Day.  349 

NOVEL  LXV. 

Simplicity  of  an  old  woman  who  presented  a  lighted  candle  .o  Saint  Jean  de 
Lyon,  and  wanted  to  fasten  it  on  the  forehead  of  a  soldier  who  was  sleeping 
on  a  tomb — What  happened  in  consequence. 

HERE  was  a  very  dark  chapel  in  the  church  of  Saint 
Jean  de  Lyon,  and  in  front  of  the  chapel  a  stone  tomb, 
with  figures  of  great  personages  as  large  as  life,  and 
several  men-at-arms  represented  in  sleeping  postures 
round  them.  A  soldier  walking  one  day  about  the  church  (it  was 
in  the  heat  of  summer)  felt  inclined  to  sleep.  He  cast  his  eyes  on 
this  chapel,  and  seeing  it  was  dark  and  cool,  he  went  and  lay 
down  among  the  other  recumbent  figures  on  the  tomb,  and  fell 
asleep.  Presently  up  came  a  very  pious  old  woman,  who,  after 
performing  her  devotions  with  a  candle  in  her  hand,  wanted  to 
fix  it  to  the  tomb,  and  the  sleeping  man  being  more  within  her 
reach  than  the  other  figures,  she  set  about  sticking  the  candle  on 
his  forehead,  imagining  that  it  was  stone  ;  but  the  wax  would  not 
stick.  The  good  woman,  supposing  that  this  was  in  consequence 
of  the  coldness  of  the  image,  clapped  the  lighted  end  of  the  candle 
to  its  forehead,  but  the  image,  which  was  not  insensible,  began  to 
roar.  The  good  woman  was  frightened  almost  out  of  her  wits,  and 
shrieked  out  “  Miracle,  miracle  !”  so  loudly  that  all  the  people  in 
church  ran,  some  to  the  bells,  others  to  the  scene  of  the  miracle. 
She  took  them  to  see  the  image  which  had  stirred,  which  made 
many  laugh  ;  but  certain  priests,  not  contenting  themselves  with 
laughing,  resolved  to  turn  the  tomb  to  account,  and  make  as  much 
money  of  it  as  of  the  crucifix  on  their  pulpit,  which  is  said  to  have 
spoken  ;  but  the  display  of  an  old  woman’s  silliness  put  an  end  to 
the  comedy.* 

If  everyone  knew  what  are  their  follies  they  would  not  be 
deemed  holy,  nor  their  miracles  true.  I  pray  you,  then,  ladies, 
take  care,  henceforth,  to  what  saints  you  give  your  candles. 

“  How  strange  it  is,”  said  Hircan,  “  that  be  it  in  what  manner  it 
may,  women  must  always  do  wrong  !  ” 

“  Is  it  doing  wrong  to  carry  candles  to  the  tomb  ?”  said  Nomer- 
fide. 

u  Yes,”  replied  Hircan,  “  when  the  lighted  end  is  put  to  a  man's 

*  The  end  of  this  novel,  and  the  whole  epilogue,  were  suppressed  in  the 
first  edition.  G'uget  restored  the  epilogue  in  the  second  edition,  but  not  the 
passage  relating  to  the  crucifix. 


350  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

forehead  ;  for  no  good  deed  should  be  called  a  good  deed  when 
mischief  comes  of  it.  The  poor  woman  thought  of  course  she  had 
made  a  grand  present  to  God  in  giving  Him  a  paltry  candle.” 

“  God  does  not  look  to  the  value  of  the  present,”  said  Oislle, 
**  but  to  the  heart  that  offers  it.  Perhaps  this  poor  woman  loved 
God  more  than  those  who  gave  great  torches  ;  for,  as  the  gospel 
says,  she  gave  out  of  her  need.” 

“  I  do  not  believe,  however,”  said  Saffredent,  “  that  God,  who  is 
supreme  wisdom,  can  look  with  favour  on  women’s  folly.  Sim¬ 
plicity  is  acceptable  to  Him,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  Scriptures  inform 
me  that  He  scorns  the  ignorant ;  and  if  we  are  there  commanded 
to  be  simple  as  doves,  we  are  also  enjoined  to  be  prudent  as 
serpents.” 

“  For  my  part,”  said  Oislle,  “I  do  not  regard  as  ignorant  her 
who  carries  before  God  her  lighted  candle,  as  making  amende 
honorable ,  kneeling  on  the  ground,  and  candle  in  hand,  to  her 
sovereign  Lord,  in  order  to  confess  her  guilt,  and  pray  with  lively 
faith  for  His  grace  and  salvation.” 

“  Would  to  God  that  everyone  acquitted  herself  in  this  way  as 
well  as  you,”  said  Dagoucin  ;  “but  I  do  not  believe  that  poor 
ignorant  women  do  the  thing  with  this  intention.” 

“  Those  women  who  are  least  capable  of  expressing  themselves 
well,”  rejoined  Oislle,  “  are  often  those  who  have  the  most  lively 
sense  of  the  love  and  the  will  of  God  ;  consequently,  it  is  not 
prudent  to  judge  any  but  oneself.” 

“  It  is  no  wonderful  thing  to  have  frightened  a  sleeping  groom,” 
said  Ennasuite,  laughing,  “  since  women  of  as  mean  condition  have 
frightened  great  princes  without  setting  fire  to  their  foreheads.” 

“  I  am  sure  you  know  some  story  of  the  sort  which  you  wish  to 
tell  us,”  said  Dagoucin,  “  so  take  my  place,  if  you  please.” 

“  The  story  wil  not  be  long,”  said  Ennasuite  ;  “  but  if  I  could 
recount  it  to  you  as  it  occurred,  you  would  have  no  mind  to  cry.” 


NOVEL  LXVI. 

Amusing  adventure  of  Monsieur  de  Vendome  and  the  Princess  of  Navarre. 

HE  year  when  Monsieur  de  Venddme  married  the  Prin¬ 
cess  of  Navarre,  the  king  and  queen,  their  father  and 
mother,  after  having  been  regaled  at  Vendome,  accom¬ 
panied  them  into  Guienne.  They  visited  the  house  of  a 
gentleman  in  which  there  were  several  ladies,  young  and  fair,  and 


Novel  66.]  Seventh  Day .  351 

where  the  company  danced  so  long  that  the  young  married  pair, 
being  tired,  retired  to  their  chamber,  where  they  threw  themselves 
on  the  bed  in  their  clothes,  the  doors  and  windows  being  closed, 
and  no  one  remaining  with  them.  They  were  wakened  from 
their  sleep  by  the  sound  of  some  one  opening  their  door  from  with¬ 
out.  Monsieur  de  Vendome  drew  back  the  curtain,  and  looked 
out  to  see  who  it  might  be,  supposing  that  it  was  one  of  his  friends 
who  wished  to  surprise  him.  But  instead  of  that  he  saw  a  tall  old 
chamber-woman,  who  walked  straight  up  to  their  bed.  It  was  too 
dark  for  her  to  distinguish  their  features,  but  she  could  see  that 
they  were  very  close  together,  and  cried  out,  “  Ah,  thou  naughty, 
shameless  wanton  !  ’tis  long  I  have  suspected  thee  for  what  thou 
art ;  but  not  having  proofs  to  show,  I  durst  not  speak  of  it  to  my 
mistress,  but  now  I  have  seen  thy  infamy  I  am  resolved  to  conceal 
it  no  longer.  And  thou,  villanous  apostate,  that  hast  done  this 
house  the  scorn  to  beguile  this  poor  wench,  were  it  not  for  the  fear 
of  God  I  would  beat  the  life  out  of  thee  on  the  spot.  Get  up,  in 
the  devil’s  name,  get  up  !  It  seems  thou  art  not  even  ashamed.” 

Monsieur  de  Vendome  and  the  princess,  to  prolong  the  scene, 
hid  their  faces  against  each  other,  and  laughed  so  heartily  that 
they  could  not  speak.  The  chamber-woman,  seeing  they  did  not 
budge  for  her  rebuke,  or  show  any  signs  of  rising,  went  to  drag 
them  out  of  bed  by  the  legs  and  arms  ;  but  then  she  perceived  by 
their  dresses  that  they  were  not  what  she  took  them  for.  The 
moment  she  recognised  their  faces  she  fell  on  her  knees,  and  im¬ 
plored  their  pardon  for  the  fault  she  had  committed  in  disturbing 
them.  Monsieur  de  Vendome,  wishing  to  know  more  of  the  matter, 
got  up  at  once,  and  begged  the  good  woman  to  tell  him  for  whom 
she  had  taken  them.  At  first  she  would  not  do  so  ;  but  after  making 
him  promise  on  oath  that  he  would  never  mention  it,  she  told 
him  that  the  cause  of  her  mistake  was  a  demoiselle  belonging  to 
the  house,  with  whom  a  prothonotary*  was  in  love  ;  and  she  had 
long  watched  them,  because  she  was  vexed  that  her  mistress  put 

*  The  office  of  Apostolic  Prothonotary  was  instituted  in  the  early  times  of 
the  Romish  Church  by  Pope  Clement  I.  There  were  originally  twelve  such 
officers,  and  their  duty  was  to  write  the  lives  of  the  saints  and  the  other 
apostolic  records.  Gradually  their  number  increased,  and  their  functions 
diminished  in  importance,  so  that  in  the  fifteenth  century  the  title  of  prothono¬ 
tary  was  merely  an  honorary  dignity  conferred  as  a  matter  of  course  on 
doctors  of  theology  of  noble  family,  or  otherwise  of  a  certain  importance. 
Brantome  says,  in  the  beginning  of  his  28th  Discours  on  the  great  captains 
and  illustrious  men  of  France:  “Monsieur  de  l’Escun,  brother  of  M.  de 
Lautrec,  was  a  good  captain  but  more  intrepid  and  valiant  than  remarkable 


352  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

confidence  in  a  man  who  offered  her  such  an  affront.  She  then 
retired,  and  left  the  prince  and  princess  shut  in  as  she  had  found 
them.  They  laughed  long  at  the  adventure  ;  and  though  they  often 
told  the  tale,  nevertheless  they  would  never  name  the  persons  for 
whom  they  had  been  mistaken. 

You  see,  ladies,  how  the  good  woman,  thinking  to  do  a  righteous 
act,  informed  these  princely  strangers  of  things  whereof  the  do¬ 
mestics  of  the  house  had  never  heard  a  word.* 

“  I  think,”  said  Parlamente,  “  I  know  where  the  adventure 
happened,  and  the  name  of  the  prothonotary.  He  has  already 
governed  many  ladies’  houses,  and  when  he  cannot  win  the  good 
graces  of  the  mistress,  he  never  misses  one  of  the  demoiselles  ;  with 
that  exception,  he  is  a  well-behaved  and  worthy  man.” 

“Why  do  you  say  with  that  exception,”  said  Hircan,  “  since  it 
is  for  that  very  thing  that  I  esteem  him  a  worthy  man  ?” 

“  I  see,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  you  know  the  malady  and  the 
patient,  and  that  if  he  needed  an  apology  you  would  not  fail  to  be 
his  advocate.  However,  I  should  not  like  to  trust  an  intrigue  to  a 
man  who  did  not  know  how  to  conduct  his  own  without  letting  it 
be  known  even  to  the  chamber-women.” 

“  Do  you  suppose,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  that  men  care  whether  such 
things  are  known  or  not  ?  Provided  they  attain  their  end,  that  is 
enough  for  them.  Be  assured  that  if  nobody  spoke  of  the  matter 
they  would  publish  it  themselves.” 

“There  is  no  need  for  men  to  say  all  they  know,”  said  Hircan, 
angrily. 

“  Perhaps,”  replied  Nomerfide,  blushing,  “  they  would  say  nothing 
to  their  own  advantage.” 

for  tha  morality  of  his  conduct.  He  had  been  destined  for  the  long  robe,  and 
studied  for  a  long  time  at  Pavia  in  the  time  of  the  grand  master  Chaumont, 
when  Milan  was  in  our  peaceable  possession.  He  was  called  the  Prothonotary 
of  Foix,  but  I  think  he  was  what  the  Spaniard  calls  un  letrado  que  no  tenia 
tnuchas  letras — that  is  to  say,  a  literatus  who  had  little  acquaintance  with 
letters  ;  and  indeed  it  was  usual  in  those  days  with  prothonotaries,  and  even 
with  those  of  good  family,  not  to  have  much  learning,  but  to  enjoy  themselves, 
hunt,  make  love,  and  generally  *e  cuckold  the  poor  gentlemen  who  were  gone 
to  the  wars.  There  was  a  song  in  those  days  in  which  a  lady  says  : 

*  Passerez  vci"  tousiours  par  cy  (bis) 

Prothenotaire  sans  soucy  ?  *  ” 

*  This  novel  was  omitted  in  the  fPs*  od'*Hn  of  the  Hep*ameron.  It  was  in 
1548  that  Antoine  de  Bourbon,  Di  ke  of  WnHcme.  married  Jeaunie  de  Navarre, 
only  daughter  of  Margaret,  and  mother  ot  bean  J\\,  King  of  France 


Novel  67.]  Seventh  Bay.  353 

“  To  hear  you  talk,”  said  Simontault,  “  it  seems  as  though  men 
took  pleasure  in  hearing  women  spoken  ill  of,  and  I  am  sure  you 
think  me  one  of  that  sort.  For  that  reason  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  say  some  good  of  them,  that  I  may  not  be  regarded  as  a  slan¬ 
derer.” 

“  I  give  you  my  vote,”  said  Ennasuite,  “and  pray  you  to  con¬ 
strain  yourself  a  little  in  order  to  do  your  devoir  to  our  honour.” 

“  It  is  no  new  thing,  ladies,”  said  Simontault,  “to  hear  of  your 
virtues.  In  my  opinion,  when  some  one  of  your  noble  actions  presents 
itself,  far  from  being  hidden  it  ought  to  be  written  in  letters  of  gold, 
to  serve  as  an  example  to  women,  and  to  give  men  cause  for 
admiration,  to  see  in  the  weaker  sex  what  weakness  recoils  from. 
It  is  this  that  prompts  me  to  relate  what  I  heard  from  Captain 
Robertval  and  several  of  his  company.” 


NOVEL  LXVII 

Love  and  extreme  hardships  of  a  woman  in  a  foreign  land. 

HE  king  having  given  the  command  of  a  small  squadron 
to  Robertval  for  an  expedition  he  had  resolved  to  make  to 
the  island  of  Canada,  that  captain  intended  to  settle  in  the 
island,  in  case  the  air  proved  good,  and  to  build  towns  and 
castles  there.  Everyone  knows  what  were  the  beginnings  of  this 
project.  In  order  to  people  the  country  with  Christians,  he  took 
with  him  all  sorts  of  artisans,  among  whom  there  was  one  who  was 
base  enough  to  betray  his  master,  so  that  he  was  near  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  natives.  But  it  was  God’s  will  that  the  conspiracy 
should  be  discovered  ;  and  so  did  no  great  harm  to  Captain  Robert¬ 
val,  who  had  the  traitor  seized,  intending  to  hang  him  as  he  deserved. 
He  would  have  done  so  but  for  the  wife  of  this  wretch,  who,  after 
sharing  the  perils  of  the  sea  with  her  husband,  was  willing  to  follow 
his  bad  fortune  to  the  end.  She  prevailed  so  far  by  her  tears  and 
supplications,  that  Robertval,  both  for  the  services  she  had  ren¬ 
dered  him,  and  from  compassion  for  her,  granted  what  she  asked. 
This  was,  that  her  husband  and  herself  should  be  left  on  a  little 
island  in  the  sea.  inhabited  only  by  wild  beasts,  with  permission  to 
take  with  them  what  was  necessary  for  their  subsistence. 

The  poor  creatures,  left  alone  with  fierce  beasts,  had  recourse 
only  to  God,  who  had  always  been  the  firm  hope  of  the  poor  wife. 
As  she  had  no  consolation  but  in  her  God,  she  took  with  her  for 
her  preservation,  her  nurture,  and  her  consolation  the  New  Testa* 

A  \ 


354  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

ment,  which  she  read  incessantly.  Moreover,  she  worked  along 
with  her  husband  at  building  a  small  dwelling.  When  the  lions 
and  other  wild  beasts  approached  to  devour  them,  the  husband 
with  his  arquebuse,  and  the  wife  with  stones,  defended  themselves 
so  well  that  not  only  the  beasts  durst  not  approach  them,  but  even 
they  often  killed  some  of  them  which  were  good  to  eat.  They 
subsisted  for  a  long  time  on  such  flesh  and  on  herbs  after  their 
bread  was  gone.  However,  in  the  long  run,  the  husband  could 
not  resist  the  effects  of  such  diet ;  besides,  they  drank  such  un¬ 
wholesome  water  that  he  became  greatly  swollen,  and  died  in  a 
short  while,  having  no  other  service  or  consolation  than  his  wife's, 
who  acted  as  his  physician  and  his  confessor  ;  so  that  he  passed 
with  joy  from  his  desert  to  the  heavenly  land.  The  poor  woman 
buried  him  in  a  grave  which  she  made  as  deep  as  she  could  ;  the 
beasts,  however,  immediately  got  scent  of  it,  and  came  to  devour 
the  body,  but  the  poor  woman,  tiring  from  her  little  dwelling  with 
her  arquebuse,  hindered  her  husband’s  body  from  having  such  a 
burial.  Thus  living  like  the  beasts  as  to  her  body,  and  like  the 
angels  as  to  her  spirit,  she  passed  the  time  in  reading,  contempla¬ 
tion,  prayers,  and  orisons,  having  a  cheerful  and  contented  spirit 
in  a  body  emaciated  and  half  dead. 

But  He  who  never  forsakes  his  own  in  their  need,  and  who  dis¬ 
plays  his  power  when  all  seems  hopeless,  did  not  suffer  that  the 
virtue  with  which  this  woman  was  endowed  should  be  unknown  to 
the  world,  but  that  it  should  be  known  there  for  his  glory.  After 
some  time,  one  of  the  vessels  of  Robertval’s  fleet  passing  before  the 
island,  those  on  deck  saw  a  woman,  who  reminded  them  of  the 
persons  they  had  put  ashore  there,  and  they  resolved  to  go  and  see 
in  what  manner  God  had  disposed  of  them.  The  poor  woman, 
on  seeing  the  vessel  approach,  went  down  to  the  sea-beach,  where 
they  found  her  on  landing.  After  thanking  God  for  their  arrival, 
she  took  them  to  her  poor  little  hut,  and  showed  them  on  what  she 
had  subsisted  during  her  melancholy  abode  there.  They  could 
never  have  believed  it,  had  they  not  known  that  God  can  nourish 
his  servants  in  a  desert  as  at  the  finest  banquets  in  the  world.  As 
she  could  not  remain  in  such  a  place,  they  took  her  straightway 
with  them  to  Rochelle  ;  and  there,  when  they  had  made  known  to 
the  inhabitants  the  fidelity  and  perseverance  of  this  woman,  the 
ladies  paid  her  great  honour,  and  were  glad  to  send  their  daughters 
to  her  to  learn  to  read  and  write.  She  maintained  herself  for  the 
rest  of  her  days  by  that  honourable  profession,  having  no  othei 
desire  than  to  exhort  everyone  to  love  God  and  trust  in  Him 


Novel  67.^  Seventh  Day.  355 

holding  forth  as  an  example  the  great  mercy  with  which  He  had 
dealt  towards  her. 

Now,  ladies,  you  cannot  say  but  that  I  laud  the  virtues  which 
God  has  implanted  in  you — virtues  which  appear  the  greater,  the 
weaker  the  being  that  displays  them. 

“  We  are  not  sorry,”  said  Oiselle,  “  that  you  praise  in  us  the 
graces  of  our  Lord,  for  in  truth  it  is  from  Him  that  comes  all 
virtue  ;  but  neither  man  nor  woman  contributes  to  the  work  of 
God.  In  vain  both  bestir  themselves  and  strive  to  do  well ;  they 
do  but  plant,  and  it  is  God  that  gives  the  increase.” 

“  If  you  have  well  read  Scripture,”  said  Saffredent,  “  you  know 
that  St.  Paul  says  that  he  has  planted  and  Apollos  has  watered  ; 
but  he  does  not  speak  of  women  having  put  their  hands  to  the 
work  of  God.” 

“  You  do  like  those  bad  men  who  take  a  passage  of  Scripture 
which  makes  for  them,  and  pass  over  that  which  is  contrary  to 
them,”  said  Parlamente.  “  If  you  have  read  St.  Paul  from  one  end 
to  the  other,  you  will  find  that  he  commends  himself  to  the  ladies 
who  have  toiled  much  with  him  in  the  propagation  of  the  Gospel.” 

“  Be  that  as  it  may,”  said  Longarine,  “  this  woman  is  worthy  of 
great  praise,  both  for  her  love  for  her  husband,  for  whom  she 
risked  her  life,  and  her  confidence  in  God,  who,  as  you  see,  did  not 
abandon  her.” 

“  As  for  the  first  point,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  I  believe  there  is  no 
wife  present  who  would  not  do  as  much  to  save  her  husband’s  life.” 

“And  I  believe,”  said  Parlamente,  “that  there  are  husbands 
such  mere  beasts  that  it  could  be  no  surprise  to  their  wives  to  find 
themselves  reduced  to  live  among  their  fellows.” 

Ennasuite  could  not  help  replying,  as  taking  this  to  have  been 
said  on  her  account,  “  If  beasts  did  not  bite  me,  their  company 
would  be  more  agreeable  to  me  than  that  of  men,  who  are  irascible 
and  unbearable.  But  I  do  not  retract  my  assertion,  and  I  say 
again,  that  if  my  husband  was  in  the  like  danger,  I  would  not  for¬ 
sake  him,  though  it  were  to  cost  me  my  life.” 

“  Beware,”  said  N  omerfide,  “  how  you  love  to  such  a  degree  that 
the  excess  of  your  love  may  be  mischievous  both  to  you  and  to 
him.  There  is  a  medium  in  all  things,  and  for  want  of  a  right 
understanding  love  is  often  converted  into  hatred.” 

“  It  seems  to  me,”  said  Simontault,  “that  you  have  not  pushed 
the  matter  so  far  without  purposing  to  confirm  your  principle  by 
some  example.  Therefore,  if  you  know  one  let  us  hear  it.” 


35 6  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

* 

u  Well,  then,  my  tale  shall  be  short  and  gay,  as  usual,”  replied 
Nomerfide. 


NOVEL  LXVI1I. 

A  worr/in  gives  her  husband  powder  of  cantharides  to  make  him  love  her,  and 

goes  near  to  killing  him. 

HERE  was  formerly  at  Pau,  in  Bearn,  an  apothecary 
whose  name  was  Maitre  Etienne.  He  had  married  a 
good  thrifty  woman,  with  such  a  share  of  beauty  as  ought 
to  have  contented  him  ;  but  as  he  tasted  different  drugs, 
so  too  he  had  a  mind  to  taste  different  women,  the  better  to  judge 
of  all.  This  was  so  disagreeable  to  his  wife  that  she  lost  all 
patience,  for  he  never  noticed  her  except  in  Passion  Week,  by  way 
of  penance.  The  apothecary  being  one  day  in  his  shop,  and  his 
wife  hid  behind  the  door,  listening,  in  came  a  woman  of  the  place, 
who  was  com  mire *  to  the  apothecary,  and  was  sick  of  the  same 
complaint  as  the  listener  behind  the  door.  “  Alas  !  compire,  my 
friend,”  she  said  to  the  apothecarv,  sighing  deeply,  “  I  am  the  most 
unfortunate  woman  in  the  world.  .  I  love  my  husband  more  than 
myselt.  I  have  not  a  thought  but  how  to  serve  and  obey  him ;  but 
it  is  all  labour  in  vain,  and  he  loves  the  worst  and  nastiest  woman 
in  the  town  better  than  he  does  me.  If  you  know  any  drug  that 
can  change  his  constitution,  pray  give  it  me,  compare.  If  it  suc¬ 
ceeds  with  me,  and  I  am  well  treated  by  my  husband,  I  am  sure  I 
will  recompense  you  to  the  utmost  of  my  power.” 

The  apothecary,  to  comfort  her,  told  her  he  knew  of  a  marvellous 
powder,  and  that  if  she  made  her  husband  take  it  in  his  broth  or 
m  his  roast  meat,  like  due  powder,  he  would  regale  her  in  the  best 
possible  manner.  The  poor  woman,  wishing  to  see  this  miracle, 
asked  him  what  it  was,  and  if  she  could  not  have  some  of  it.  He 
told  her  she  had  only  to  take  some  powder  of  cantharides,  of  which 
he  had  good  store.  Before  they  parted  she  made  him  prepare  this 
powder,  and  took  as  much  of  it  as  she  needed  ;  and  subsequently 
she  thanked  him  for  it  many  times  ;  for  her  husband,  who  was 
strong  and  vigorous,  and  who  did  not  take  too  much  of  it,  found 
himself  none  the  worse  for  it,  and  she  all  the  better. 

*  In  France,  the  godfather  and  godmother  of  a  child  are  called  in  reference 
to  each  other  compere  and  commere ,  terms  which  imply  mutual  relations  of  a 
peculiarly  friendly  kind.  The  same  usage  exists  in  all  Catholic  countries.  One 
of  the  novels  in  the  Decameron  is  founded  on  a  very  general  opinion  in  Italy 
that  an  amorous  connection  between  a  compadre  and  his  commadre  partook 
almost  of  the  nature  of  incest. 


Novel  68.]  Seventh  Day.  357 

The  apothecary’s  wife,  who  had  overheard  the  whole  conversa¬ 
tion,  th  ought  to  herself  that  she  had  no  less  need  of  the  recipe  than 
his  commlre.  She  marked  the  place  where  her  husband  put  away 
the  rest  of  the  powder,  and  resolved  to  use  it  when  an  occasio  r 
should  offer.  She  had  not  long  to  wait.  Her  husband,  feeling 
himself  incommoded  with  a  coldness  of  stomach,  begged  her  to 
make  him  some  good  broth.  She  told  him  that  a  roast  with  due 
powder  would  do  him  still  more  good,  and  he  begged  her  to  make 
him  one  forthwith,  and  to  get  some  cinnamon  and  some  sugar  out 
of  the  shop.  She  did  so,  and  did  not  forget  the  remainder  of  the 
powder  which  he  had  given  to  his  commtre ,  without  regarding 
either  weight,  or  dose,  or  measure.  The  husband  ate  the  roast, 
which  he  found  very  good,  and  soon  experienced  its  effect,  which 
he  thought  to  appease  with  his  wife ;  but  it  was  impossible,  for  he 
felt  all  on  fire,  so  that  he  did  not  knowr  on  what  side  to  turn.  He 
told  his  wife  she  had  poisoned  him,  and  insisted  on  knowing  what 
she  had  put  in  the  broth.  She  did  not  disguise  the  truth,  but  tohl 
him  plainly  that  she  had  as  much  need  of  that  recipe  as  his  commlre . 
The  poor  apothecary  was  in  such  torture  that  he  could  not  belabour 
her  with  anything  harder  than  bad  words.  He  ordered  her  out  of 
his  sight,  and  sent  her  to  the  Queen  of  Navarre’s  apothecary  to  beg 
he  would  come  and  see  him,  which  he  did,  and  administered  the 
remedies  suitable  to  the  case.  The  queen’s  apothecary  set  the 
patient  on  his  legs  again  in  a  very  little  time,  and  censured  him 
sharply  for  making  another  take  drugs  which  he  would  not 
willingly  take  himself ;  adding,  that  his  wife  had  done  as  she 
ought,  seeing  the  desire  she  had  to  make  herself  loved  by  him. 
The  poor  man  was  obliged  to  have  patience,  and  own  that  God 
had  justly  punished  him  in  exposing  him  to  the  raillery  to  which  he 
would  have  subjected  another. 

To  me  it  seems,  ladies,  that  this  woman’s  love  was  not  less  in¬ 
discreet  than  excessive. 

“  Do  you  call  it  loving  her  husband,”  said  Hircan,  “to  make 
him  suffer  for  the  pleasure  she  expected  of  him  ?” 

“I  imagine,”  said  Longarine,  “she  had  no  other  intention  than 
to  regain  her  husband’s  regard,  which  she  thought  she  had  lost. 
There  is  nothing  women  would  not  do  for  such  a  blessing.” 

“Nevertheless,”  said  Geburon,  “in  matters  of  food  and  drink, 
a  woman  ought  on  no  account  whatever  to  give  her  husband  any¬ 
thing  of  which  she  is  not  sure,  as  well  by  her  own  experience  as  by 
that  of  persons  of  knowledge,  that  it  can  do  him  no  harm  ;  but 


35$  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

ignorance  must  be  excused.  The  woman  in  question  was  excus< 
able,  for  the  passion  which  blinds  people  most  is  love,  and  tne 
person  most  blinded  is  the  woman  who  has  not  the  strength  to 
carry  such  a  great  burden  judiciously.” 

“  Geburon,”  replied  Oisille,  “you  depart  from  your  own  good 
custom  to  conform  to  the  sentiments  of  your  companions.  Yet 
there  are  women  who  have  patiently  sustained  love  and  jealousy.” 

“  Ay,”  said  Hircan,  “  and  pleasantly  too  ;  for  the  most  sensible 
are  those  who  take  as  much  pleasure  in  laughing  at  their  husbands’ 
doings,  as  the  husbands  in  secretly  playing  them  false.  If  you 
will  allow  me  to  speak  before  Madame  Oisille  closes  the  day,  I  will 
tell  you  a  tale  about  a  husband  and  a  wife  who  are  known  to  all  the 
company.” 

“  Begin,  then,”  said  Nomerfide  ;  and  Hircan,  laughing,  began 
thus. 


NOVEL  LX  IX. 

An  Italian  suffered  himself  to  be  duped  by  his  servant  rnaid,  and  was  caught 
by  his  wife  bolting  meal  in  place  of  the  girl. 

T  the  chateau  of  Odoz,  in  Bigorre,  dwelt  one  of  the  king’s 
equerries,  named  Charles,  an  Italian.  He  had  married 
a  very  good  and  virtuous  lady,  who  had  grown  old  after 
bearing  him  several  children.  He,  too,  was  not  young, 
and  lived  on  peaceable  and  friendly  terms  with  his  wife.  It  is  true 
he  sometimes  talked  to  his  women  servants,  which  his  good  wife 
pretended  never  to  observe,  but  she  always  dismissed  the  girls  very 
quietly  when  she  knew  that  they  had  forgotten  their  station  in  the 
house.  One  day  she  took  one  who  was  an  honest,  good  girl,  told 
her  what  was  her  husband’s  humour  and  her  own,  and  warned  her 
that  she  would  turn  off  a  girl  the  moment  she  knew  she  was  not 
well  behaved.  The  servant,  being  anxious  to  remain  in  her  mis¬ 
tress’s  service  and  gain  her  esteem,  resolved  not  to  swerve  from  the 
path  of  virtue.  Though  her  master  often  addressed  improper  lan¬ 
guage  to  her,  she  never  would  hearken  to  him,  but  told  all  to  her 
mistress,  who  laughed  with  her  at  her  husband’s  folly. 

One  day  the  servant  was  bolting  meal  in  a  back  room,  with  her 
surcoat  over  her  head  after  the  manner  of  the  country.  This  sur- 
-coat  is  made  like  a  crime.au ,  but  it  completely  covers  the  back 
and  shoulders.  Her  master,  finding  her  in  that  trim,  was  very 
pressing  with  her ;  and  she,  who  would  as  soon  have  died  as  done 
what  be  wished,-  pretended  to  consent,  and  begged  he  would  first 


Novel  69.]  Seventh  Day .  359 

let  her  go  and  see  whether  or  not  her  mistress  was  engaged  in  any 
way,  so  that  they  might  not  be  surprised  by  her.  He  willingly 
consented  to  this,  and  then  she  begged  him  to  put  on  her  surcoat 
and  continue  to  bolt  during  her  absence,  so  that  her  mistress  might 
not  miss  the  sound  of  the  bolting  machine.  This  he  did  with  glee, 
in  the  hope  of  having  what  he  desired.  The  servant,  who  loved  a 
good  laugh,  ran  to  her  mistress,  and  said,  “  Come  and  see  your 
husband,  whom  I  have  taught  to  bolt,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  him.” 
The  wife  made  haste  to  see  this  new  servant,  and  found  her  hus* 
band  with  the  surcoat  on  his  head,  working  away  at  the  bolting 
machine,  and  laughed  at  him  so  heartily,  clapping  her  hands,  that 
it  was  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  say  to  him,  “  How  much  a 
month  dost  thou  ask  for  wages,  wench  ?  ”  The  husband,  hearing 
his  wife’s  voice,  and  seeing  that  he  was  duped,  threw  away  the 
surcoat  and  the  bolting  machine,  and  darted  at  the  servant,  whom 
he  called  all  sorts  of  bad  names.  If  his  wife  had  not  interposed 
he  would  have  paid  her  for  her  courtesy;  however,  the  storm  was 
at  last  appeased  to  the  content  of  all  parties,  who  afterwards 
lived  peaceably  together.* 

What  say  you  of  this  wife,  ladies  ?  Was  she  not  wise  to  make 
sport  of  her  husband’s  sport  ? 

“  It  was  no  sport  for  the  husband  to  miss  his  aim,”  said  Saflfre- 
dent. 

I  imagine,”  said  Ennasuite,  “  that  he  had  more  pleasure  in 
laughing  with  his  wife  than  in  half  killing  himself  with  his  servant 
at  his  age.” 

“  I  should  have  been  sorely  annoyed  to  have  been  found  with 
that  fine  ci'ime.au  over  my  head,”  said  Simontault. 

“  I  have  heard,”  said  Parlamente,  “  that  it  was  not  your  wife’s 
fault  that  she  did  not  catch  you  pretty  nearly  in  the  same  trim  ; 
and  since  that  time,  they  say,  she  has  never  known  rest.” 

“  Be  content  with  the  adventures  of  your  own  house,”  replied 
Simontault,  “  without  looking  after  mine.  My  wife  has  no  cause 
to  complain  of  me  ;  but  even  if  I  were  such  as  you  say.  she  would 
not  notice  it,  for  she  is  not  at  all  stinted.” 

“  Women  of  honour  need  nothing  but  the  love  of  their  hus¬ 
bands,  the  only  persons  who  can  content  them,”  said  Longarine ; 
“  but  those  who  desire  a  brutal  pleasure  will  never  find  it  where 
propriety  prescribes.” 

*  This  is  the  same  story  as  Le  Conseilleur  au  Bluteau,  the  18th  of  the  Centua 
Novell  Nouvelles. 


360  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre* 

“Do  you  call  it  brutal  pleasure  when  a  woman  wishes  to  have 
from  her  husband  what  belongs  to  her?”  said  Geburon. 

“  I  maintain,”  replied  Longarine,  “  that  a  chaste  wife,  who  loves 
truly,  finds  more  contentment  in  being  perfectly  loved,  than  in  all 
the  pleasures  which  the  flesh  can  desire.” 

“  I  am  of  your  opinion,”  said  Dagoucin  ;  “  but  their  lordships 
here  will  neither  hear  of  it  nor  confess  it.  I  believe  that  if  mutual 
love  does  not  content  a  woman,  a  husband  will  content  her  no 
more  ;  for  if  she  does  not  conform  in  love  to  the  seemly  ways  of 
women,  she  must  be  possessed  by  the  infernal  lust  of  the  brutes.” 

“  Truly  you  remind  me,”  said  Oisille,  “  of  a  fair  lady  who  was 
well  married,  and  who,  for  want  of  contenting  herself  with  that 
seemly  love,  became  more  carnal  than  swine,  and  more  cruel  than 
lions.” 

<c  I  pray  you,  madam,  to  finish  the  day  by  telling  us  that  story,” 
said  Simontault. 

“  I  cannot,  for  two  reasons,”  replied  Oisille  ;  "  first,  because  it  is 
long  ;  and  secondly,  because  it  is  not  of  our  time.  It  has  been 
written,  however,  by  an  author  worthy  of  credit ;  but  we  are  vowed 
to  relate  nothing  here  that  has  been  written.” 

“  That  is  true,”  observed  Parlamente  ;  “  but  as  I  believe  I  know 
the  tale  you  mean,  I  must  tell  you  it  is  written  in  such  antiquated 
language  that  I  do  not  think  anyone  present,  except  us  two,  has 
heard  of  it.  Therefore  it  will  be  as  good  as  new.” 

The  whole  company  then  besought  her  to  tell  the  story  without 
troubling  herself  about  its  length,  for  they  had  still  a  good  hour 
to  spare  for  vespers.  Madame  Oisille,  therefore,  yielded  to  their 
entreaties,  and  began  as  follows. 


NOVEL  LXX. 

The  horrible  incontinence  and  malice  of  a  duchess  of  Burgundy  was  the  cause 
of  her  death,  and  of  that  of  two  persons  who  fondly  loved  each  other, 

HERE  was  in  the  duchy  of  Burgundy  a  duke  who  was  a 
very  agreeable  prince  and  of  very  goodly  person.  He 
had  a  wife  with  whose  beauty  he  was  so  satisfied  that  it 
blinded  him  to  her  disposition,  and  he  thought  only  of 
pleasing  her,  whilst  she,  on  her  part,  made  a  show  of  responding 
only  to  his  affection.  This  duke  had  in  his  household  a  young  gen- 
telman  so  accomplished  in  all  that  can  be  desired  in  a  man  that 
he  was  loved  by  everybody,  and  especially  by  the  duke,  about 


Novel  70.]  Seventh  Day.  361 

whose  person  he  had  been  brought  up  from  childhood,  and  who, 
knowing  him  to  possess  so  many  perfections,  had  the  warmest 
regard  for  him,  and  trusted  him  in  all  affairs  suitable  to  his 
years.  'I'he  duchess,  who  was  not  a  virtuous  woman,  not  satisfied 
with  her  husband’s  love  and  the  kind  treatment  she  received  from 
him,  often  cast  her  eyes  on  this  gentleman,  and  found  him  so  much 
to  her  taste  that  she  loved  him  beyond  measure.  She  was  ever¬ 
more  trying  to  make  this  known  to  him  by  languishing  and  tender 
glances,  sighs,  and  impassioned  airs ;  but  the  gentleman,  who 
never  studied  anything  but  virtue,  knew  nought  of  vice  in  a  lady 
who  had  so  little  excuse  for  it  ;  so  that  the  glances,  sighs,  and  im¬ 
passioned  airs  of  the  poor  wanton  brought  her  nothing  but  bitter 
disappointment.  She  carried  her  extravagance  so  far  that,  for¬ 
getting  she  was  a  wife  who  ought,  though  solicited,  to  grant  no 
favour,  and  a  princess  who  was  made  to  be  adored,  yet  disdain 
such  servants,  she  resolved  to  act  like  a  man  transported  with 
passion,  and  to  discharge  her  bosom  of  a  burden  that  was  insup¬ 
portable. 

One  day  then,  when  the  duke  went  to  council,  to  which  the  gen¬ 
tleman  was  not  admitted,  being  too  young,  she  beckoned  to  him,  and 
he  came,  thinking  she  had  some  order  to  give  him.  Leaning  then 
on  his  arm,  like  a  woman  wearied  by  too  much  repose,  she  walked 
about  with  him  in  a  gallery,  and  said,  “  I  am  surprised  that,  being 
as  you  are,  young,  handsome,  and  full  of  engaging  qualities,  you 
have  been  able  hitherto  to  live  in  continual  intercourse  with  so 
many  fair  ladies  without  loving  any  of  them.”  And  then,  with  one 
of  her  most  gracious  looks,  she  paused  for  his  answer. 

“  Madam,”  he  replied,  “if  I  were  worthy  that  your  greatness 
should  descend  to  think  of  me,  you  would  have  more  reason  for 
surprise  to  see  so  insignificant  a  man  as  I  am  offer  his  services 
only  to  meet  with  refusal  or  mockery.” 

Upon  this  discreet  reply  the  duchess  loved  him  more  than  ever, 
and  vowed  that  there  was  not  a  lady  in  the  court  but  would  be  too 
happy  to  have  a  lover  of  his  merit ;  that  he  might  try,  and  that 
she  assured  him  he  would  succeed  without  difficulty.  The  gentle¬ 
man  kept  his  eyes  constantly  bent  on  the  ground,  not  daring  to 
look  on  the  countenance  of  the  duchess,  which  glowed  enough  to 
warm  an  icicle.  Just  when  he  was  about  to  excuse  himself,  the 
duke  sent  for  the  duchess  to  come  to  the  council  upon  an  affair  in 
which  she  was  interested.  She  went  with  much  regret.  As  for 
the  gentleman,  he  pretended  not  to  have  understood  what  she  said, 
which  vexed  and  confused  her  so  much  that  she  knew  not  what  to 


362  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

impute  it  to  but  the  silly  fear  with  which  she  thought  the  young 
man  possessed.  Seeing,  then,  that  he  did  not  understand  her  lan¬ 
guage,  she  resolved  a  few  days  afterwards  to  overleap  fear  and 
shame,  and  declare  her  passion  to  him  in  plain  terms,  never 
doubting  but  that  beauty  like  hers  could  not  fail  to  be  well 
received.  Nevertheless,  she  would  have  been  glad  to  have  had 
the  honour  to  be  solicited  ;  but,  after  all,  she  preferred  pleasure  to 
honour. 

After  having  several  times  again  tried  the  same  means  she  had 
first  essayed,  and  always  with  the  same  unwelcome  result,  she 
plucked  him  by  the  sleeve  one  day,  and  told  him  she  wanted  to 
speak  to  him  on  an  affair  of  importance.  With  all  due  respect 
and  humility  the  gentleman  followed  her  to  a  window  recess, 
where,  finding  that  she  could  not  be  seen  from  the  chamber,  she 
resumed  the  subject  of  her  past  conversation  with  a  trembling 
voice,  indicative  alike  of  desire  and  fear.  She  reproached  him  foi 
not  having  yet  made  choice  of  a  lady,  and  assured  him  that  wher¬ 
ever  he  fixed  his  affections  she  would  spare  no  pains  to  ensure  his 
success.  The  gentleman,  not  less  distressed  than  astonished  at 
such  language,  replied,  “  My  heart  is  so  tender,  madam,  that  if  I 
were  once  refused  I  should  never  know  joy  ;  and  I  am  so  well 
aware  of  my  slender  merit  that  I  am  sure  there  is  no  lady  in  the 
court  who  would  accept  my  services.” 

The  duchess  blushed  at  these  words,  and  imagining  that  his 
heart  was  lost,  protested  he  had  only  to  wish,  and  she  would 
answer  for  it  that  she  knew  the  fairest  lady  in  the  court  would 
receive  him  with  extreme  joy,  and  make  him  consummately  happy. 
“  I  do  not,  believe,  madam,”  he  replied,  “  that  there  is  any  woman 
in  this  court  so  unfortunate  and  so  infatuated  as  to  have  made  me 
the  object  of  her  predilections.” 

Seeing  that  he  would  not  understand  her,  she  proceeded  to  give 
him  a  more  direct  glimpse  of  her  passion  ;  and  as  the  gentleman’s 
virtue  gave  her  cause  for  fear,  she  spoke  by  way  of  interrogation. 
u  If  fortune,”  she  said,  “had  so  favoured  you  that  it  was  myself 
who  was  thus  well  inclined  to  you,  what  would  you  say  ?  ” 

The  gentleman,  who  thought  he  was  dreaming  to  hear  her  speak 
thus,  dropped  on  one  knee  on  the  ground,  and  replied,  “  When  God 
shall  do  me  the  grace,  madam,  to  make  me  possessor  of  the  good¬ 
will  of  the  duke  my  master,  and  of  yourself,  I  shall  deem  myself 
the  happiest  of  men.  It  is  the  sole  recompense  I  crave  for  my 
faithful  services,  bound  as  I  am  above  all  others  to  sacrifice  my  life 
for  you  both  I  am  con  vinced,  madam,  that  the  love  you  have  for 


Novel  70.]  Seventh  Day.  363 

my  lord  your  spouse  is  so  pure  and  great,  that  not  even  the 
greatest  prince  and  the  most  accomplished  man  in  the  world,  to 
say  nothing  of  myself,  who  am  but  a  worm  of  the  earth,  could  im¬ 
pair  the  union  that  subsists  between  my  master  and  you.  As  for  me, 
whom  he  has  nurtured  from  childhood,  and  made  what  I  am,  [ 
would  not  for  my  life  entertain  a  thought  other  than  that  which 
becomes  a  faithful  servant  as  regards  either  his  wife,  sister,  or 
mother.” 

The  duchess  would  not  suffer  him  to  proceed,  but  seeing  she  was 
in  danger  of  receiving  a  shameful  refusal,  she  broke  in  upon  him 
suddenly,  “  Wicked  and  arrogant  fool  ?  who  requires  any  such  thing 
of  you  ?  Because  you  are  good-looking  you  imagine  that  the  very 
dies  are  enamoured  of  you  ;  but  if  you  were  presumptuous  enough 
to  address  yourself  to  me,  I  would  soon  let  you  know  that  I  love, 
and  will  love,  none  but  my  husband.  I  have  spoken  to  you  as  I 
have  done  only  for  my  diversion,  to  sift  you,  and  make  you  my 
laughing-stock,  as  I  do  all  amorous  coxcombs.” 

“  I  have  all  along  been  assured  that  it  was  just  as  you  say, 
madam,”  replied  the  gentleman. 

She  would  hear  no  more,  but  turned  abruptly  from  him,  and  to 
avoid  her  ladies  who  followed  her  into  her  chamber,  she  shut  her¬ 
self  up  in  her  closet,  where  she  gave  way  to  an  indescribable  burst 
of  bitter  feeling.  On  the  one  hand,  the  love  in  which  she  had  failed 
caused  her  mortal  sadness  ;  and  on  the  other,  her  despite  against 
herself  for  entering  upon  so  injudicious  a  dialogue,  and  against  the 
gentleman  for  having  answered  so  prudently,  put  her  into  such  a 
fury  that  at  one  moment  she  wished  to  kill  herself,  at  the  next  she 
would  live  to  be  revenged  on  him  she  regarded  as  her  deadliest 
enemy.  After  a  long  fit  of  tears  she  feigned  indisposition,  to  avoid 
appearing  at  the  duke’s  supper,  at  which  the  gentleman  was  usually 
in  attendance.  The  duke,  who  loved  his  wife  more  than  himself, 
failed  not  to  go  and  see  her  ;  when,  in  order  to  arrive  the  more  easily 
at  her  ends,  she  told  him  she  believed  she  was  pregnant,  and  that 
her  pregnancy  had  caused  a  rheum  to  fall  upon  her  eyes,  which 
gave  her  great  pain.  The  duchess  kept  her  bed  for  two  or  three 
hours  in  so  sad  and  melancholy  a  mood  that  the  duke  suspected 
there  was  something  else  the  matter  besides  pregnancy.  He  went 
to  sleep  with  her  that  night  ;  but  seeing  that,  in  spite  of  all  the 
caresses  he  could  bestow  upon  her,  she  continued  to  sigh  in¬ 
cessantly,  he  said,  “You  know,  my  dear,  that  I  love  you  as 
my  own  life,  and  that  if  you  die  I  cannot  possibly  survive  you.  If 
dien,  you  value  my  health  and  life,  tell  me,  I  entreat,  what  makes 


3  6 4  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

you  sigh  thus  ;  for  I  cannot  believe  that  pregnancy  alone  can  pro 
duce  that  effect.” 

The  duchess,  seeing  her  husband  in  the  very  mood  she  wished, 
hastened  to  turn  it  to  her  vengeful  purpose.  “  Alas  !  monsieur,” 
she  said,  embracing  him  with  tears,  “  my  worst  suffering  is  to  see 
you  the  dupe  of  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  preserve  your  honour  and 
all  that  is  yours.”  This  made  the  duk(  wondrously  eager  to  know 
what  she  meant,  and  he  begged  her  to  speak  openly,  without  fear 
or  disguise.  “  I  shall  never  be  surprised,”  she  said  at  last,  after 
repeated  refusals,  “if  strangers  make  war  on  princes,  since  those 
who  are  most  bound  to  them  undertake  to  wage  such  a  horrible 
war  against  them  that  the  lo««  of  domains  is  nothing  in  com¬ 
parison  with  it.  I  say  this,  monsieur,  with  reference  to  a  gentle¬ 
man”  (here  she  named  her  enemy)  “  whom  you  have  fed,  reared, 
treated  more  like  a  relation  than  a  domestic,  and  who,  by  way  of 
gratitude,  has  had  the  impudence  and  the  baseness  to  attempt  the 
honour  of  your  wife,  on  which  depends  that  of  your  house  and  your 
children.  Though  he  long  laboured  to  insinuate  to  me  things  that 
left  me  no  doubt  of  his  black  perfidy,  yet  my  heart,  which  is  only 
for  you,  and  thinks  only  on  you,  could  not  comprehend  him  ;  but 
at  last  he  explained  himself,  and  I  replied  to  him  as  my  rank  and 
my  honour  required.  I  hate  him,  however,  so  that  I  cannot  bear 
the  sight  of  him  ;  and  this  it  was,  monsieur,  which  made  me  keep 
my  room  and  lose  the  happiness  of  your  company.  I  beseech  you 
monsieur,  not.  to  keep  such  a  pestilence  near  you  ;  for  after  such  a 
crime,  the  fear  of  your  being  made  acquainted  with  it  might  very 
likely  induce  him  to  do  something  worse.  You  now  know,  mon¬ 
sieur,  the  cause  of  my  grief,  which  seems  to  me  most  just  and 
most  worthy  that  you  should  right  it  without  delay.” 

The  duke,  who  on  the  one  hand  loved  his  wife  and  felt  himself 
outraged,  and  on  the  other  hand  loved  the  gentleman,  of  whose 
fidelity  he  had  often  had  practical  proof,  could  hardly  believe  this 
lie  was  truth.  He  withdrew  to  his  chamber  in  great  perplexity  and 
anger,  and  sent  word  to  the  gentleman  that  he  was  not  to  appear 
any  more  in  his  presence,  but  was  to  retire  to  his  own  home  for 
some  time.  The  gentleman,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  an  order  so 
peremptory  and  so  unexpected,  was  the  more  keenly  affected  by  it, 
as  he  thought  he  had  deserved  the  very  opposite  treatment.  Con¬ 
scious  of  his  innocence  in  heart  and  deed,  he  got  one  of  his 
comrades  to  speak  to  the  duke  on  his  behalf,  and  deliver  him  a 
letter,  wherein  he  most  humbly  entreated  that,  if  he  had  the  mis¬ 
fortune  to  be  removed  from  his  master’s  presence,  in  consequence 


Novel  70.]  Seventh  Day .  365 

of  some  report  to  his  prejudice,  the  duke  would  have  the  goodness 
to  suspend  his  judgment  until  he  should  have  inquired  into  the 
truth  ;  and  then  he  durst  hope  it  would  be  found  he  had  in  nowise 
offended.  This  letter  somewhat  appeased  the  duke  ;  he  sent  for 
the  gentleman  to  come  secretly  to  his  chamber,  and  said  to  him, 
with  great  gravity,  “  I  could  never  have  believed  that,  after  having 
had  you  nurtured  like  my  own  child,  I  should  have  cause  to  repent 
of  having  so  highly  advanced  you,  forasmuch  as  you  have  sought 
to  outrage  me  in  a  manner  that  would  have  been  worse  to  me  than 
the  loss  of  life  and  fortune,  namely,  by  attempting  the  honour  of 
her  who  is  the  half  of  myself,  and  seeking  to  cover  my  house  with 
perpetual  infamy.  You  may  believe  that  I  feel  this  insult  so 
deeply,  that  if  I  was  quite  sure  that  the  fact  was  true  you  would 
by  this  time  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  water,  to  punish  you  secretly 
for  ihe  affront  you  have  secretly  sought  to  put  upon  me.” 

The  gentleman  was  not  dismayed  by  this  speech  ;  on  the  con¬ 
trary,  he  spoke  with  the  confidence  of  innocence,  and  besought  the 
duke  to  have  the  goodness  to  tell  him  who  was  his  accuser,  the 
accusation  being  one  of  those  which  are  better  discussed  with  the 
lance  than  with  the  tongue.  “  Your  accuser,”  replied  the  duke 
“  has  no  other  arms  than  her  chastity.  It  was  my  wife,  and  no  one 
else,  who  told  me  this,  praying  me  to  take  vengence  upon  you.” 

Amazed  as  the  poor  gentleman  was  at  the  prodigious  malice  of 
the  duchess,  he  would  not  accuse  her,  but  contented  himself  with 
saying,  “  My  lady  may  say  what  she  pleases.  You  know  her,  mon  • 
sieur,  better  than  I  ;  and  you  know  if  I  have  seen  her  elsewhere 
than  in  your  compaay,  except  once  only  when  she  spoke  to  me  a 
very  little.  Your  judgment  is  as  sound  as  that  of  any  prince  in 
Christendom.  Therefore,  my  liege,  I  beseech  you  to  consider  if 
you  have  ever  seen  anything  in  me  which  can  have  caused  you 
suspicion.  It  is  a  fire  which  it  is  imposible  long  to  conceal  in  such 
wise  that  those  who  labour  under  the  same  malady  shall  not  have 
some  inkling  of  it.  I  beg,  my  liege,  that  you  will  be  graciously 
pleased  to  believe  two  things  of  me  :  one  is,  that  I  am  so  true  to 
you  that,  though  my  lady  your  spouse  were  the  finest  woman  in  the 
world,  love  would  not  be  capable  of  making  me  do  anything  con¬ 
trary  to  my  honour  and  my  duty  ;  the  other  is  that  even  were  she 
not  your  spouse,  she  is,  of  all  the.  women  I  have  ever  seen,  the  one 
I  should  be  least  inclined  to  love  ;  and  there  are  enough  of  others 
on  whom  I  should  sooner  fix  my  choice.” 

The  duke’s  anger  was  somewhat  mitigated  by  these  words. 
4  Well,”  said  he,  “  I  did  not  believe  it  ;  so  you  may  go  on  as  usual 


366  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 

with  the  assurance  that  if  I  find  that  the  truth  is  on  your  side,  1 
will  love  you  more  than  ever  ;  but  if  the  contrary  appears,  your  life 
is  in  my  hand.”  The  gentleman  thanked  him,  and  declared  his 
willingness  to  submit  to  the  severest  penalty  his  master  could 
devise  if  he  were  found  guilty. 

The  duchess,  seeing  the  gentleman  continue  to  serve  as  usual, 
could  not  patiently  endure  it,  and  said  to  her  husband,  “It  would 
be  no  more  than  you  deserve,  monsieur,  if  you  were  poisoned,  since 
you  have  more  confidence  in  your  mortal  enemies  than  in  your 
nearest  friends.” 

“  Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy,  my  dear,”  replied  the  duke  ;  “  for 
if  it  appears  that  what  you  have  told  me  is  true,  I  assure  you  he 
has  not  twenty-four  hours  to  live.  But  as  he  has  protested  the 
contrary  to  me  on  oath,  and  as,  besides,  I  never  perceived  any¬ 
thing  of  the  sort,  I  cannot  believe  it  without  good  proofs.” 

“Truly,  monsieur,”  she  returned,  “your  goodness  makes  my 
malice  greater.  What  greater  proof  would  you  have  than  that  a 
man  like  him  has  never  had  any  amour  imputed  to  him.  Be  assured, 
monsieur,  that  but  for  the  vain  and  presumptuous  idea  with  which 
he  has  flattered  himself  of  becoming  my  servant,  he  would  not 
be  without  a  mistress  at  this  time  of  day.  Never  did  a  young 
man  live  so  solitary  as  he  in  good  company  ;  and  the  reason  can 
only  be  that  his  heart  is  set  so  high  that  his  vain  hope  stands 
•him  in  stead  of  everything  else.  If  you  believe  that  he  conceals 
nothing  from  you,  swear  him  as  to  his  amours.  If  he  tells  you 
that  he  loves  another,  why  then  believe  him  ;  I  am  content  you 
should  ;  but  if  not,  be  assured  that  what  I  say  is  true.” 

The  duke  approved  of  his  wife’s  suggestion,  and  taking  the 
gentleman  into  the  country,  said  to  him,  “  My  wife  continues 
still  to  speak  to  me  of  you  to  the  same  purpose,  and  mentions  a 
circumstance  which  gives  me  some  suspicion.  To  be  plain  with 
you,  it  excites  surprise  that  you,  a  young  and  gallant  man,  have 
never  been  known  to  be  in  love  ;  and  this  very  thing  makes  me 
fear  that  you  entertain  the  sentiments  you  have  been  charged 
with,  and  that  the  hope  you  cherish  is  so  pleasing  to  you  that 
you  cannot  think  of  any  other  woman.  I  pray  you,  then,  as  a 
friend,  and  order  you  as  a  master,  to  tell  me  truly  do  you  pay 
your  court  to  any  lady  in  this  world  ?” 

The  poor  gentleman,  who  would  fain  have  concealed  his  love 
as  carefully  as  he  would  have  preserved  his  life,  seeing  his 
master's  extreme  jealousy,  was  constrained  to  swear  to  him  that 
he  loved  a  lady  so  beautiful  that  the  beauty  of  the  duchess  and 


Ncvd  70.]  Seventh  Day.  367 

of  all  the  ladies  of  her  suite  was  mean  in  comparison,  not  to  say 
ugliness  and  deformity  ;  at  the  same  time,  he  besought  the  duke 
not  to  insist  on  his  naming  the  lady,  because  the  intimacy  between 
him  and  his  mistress  was  such  that  it  could  only  be  broken  by 
whichever  of  the  two  first  disclosed  it.  The  duke  promised  he 
would  never  press  him  on  that  point.,  and  was  so  satisfied  with 
him  that  he  behaved  more  graciously  to  him  than  ever.  The 
duchess  perceived  it,  and  employed  her  usual  artifices  to  find  out 
the  reason  ;  nor  did  the  dune  conceal  it  from  her.  Strong 
jealousy  was  now  added  to  her  thirst  of  vengeance,  and  she  be¬ 
sought  the  duke  to  insist  that  the  gentleman  should  name  his 
mistress,  declaring  that  if  he  refused  to  do  so,  her  husband  would 
be  the  most  credulous  prince  in  the  world  to  put  faith  in  so 
vague  a  statement. 

The  poor  prince,  who  was  led  by  his  wife  as  she  pleased,  went 
and  walked  alone  with  the  gentleman,  and  told  him  that  he  was 
in  still  greater  embarrassment  than  ever,  being  afraid  that  what 
he  had  told  him  was  only  an  excuse  to  hinder  him  from  coming 
at  the  truth,  which  made  him  more  uneasy  than  before  ;  there¬ 
fore  he  besought  him  most  earnestly  to  tell  him  the  name  of  her 
he  loved  so  much.  The  poor  gentleman  implored  the  duke  not 
to  constrain  him  to  break  the  promise  he  had  given  to  a  person 
he  loved  as  his  life,  and  which  he  had  kept  inviolate  until  that 
moment.  It  would  be  tantamount  to  requiring  him  to  lose  in 
one  day  what  he  had  preserved  for  more  than  seven  years,  and  he 
would  rather  die  than  do  that  wrong  to  a  person  wno  was  so 
faithful  to  him.  His  refusal  threw  the  duke  into  such  a  violent 
fit  of  jealousy  that  he  exclaimed  furiously,  “Take  your  choice  : 
either  tell  me  the  name  of  her  you  love  above  all  others,  or  quit 
my  dominions  on  pain  of  death  if  you  are  found  in  them  after 
eight  days.” 

If  ever  faithful  servant  was  smitten  with  keen  anguish  it  was 
this  poor  gentleman,  who  might  well  say,  Angusticz  sunt  miki 
undique .  On  the  one  hand,  if  he  told  the  truth  he  lost  his 
mistress,  should  it  come  to  her  knowledge  that  he  had  broken  his 
word  to  her  ;  on  the  other,  if  he  did  not  tell  it,  he  was  exiled 
from  the  country  where  she  resided,  and  could  never  see  her 
more.  Thus  pressed  on  all  sides,  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  upon 
him,  as  if  his  anguish  had  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  the  grave. 
The  duke,  perceiving  his  embarrassment,  imagined  he  loved  only 
the  duchess,  and  that  his  confusion  arose  from  the  fact  that  he 
could  not  name  anyone  else.  In  this  belief  he  said  to  him  sternly, 
“If  you  had  told  me  the  truth,  you  would  have  less  difficulty  in 


368  The  Heptamtron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

doing  what  I  desire  ;  but  I  believe  that  it  is  your  crime  that 
occasions  your  embarrassment,” 

The  gentleman,  stung  by  these  words,  and  urged  by  the  love 
he  bore  his  master,  resolved  to  tell  him  the  truth,  assuring  him¬ 
self  that  the  duke  was  a  man  of  so  much  honour  that  he  would 
keep  his  secret  inviolate.  He  fell  on  his  knees  then,  and  said  to 
him,  with  his  hands  pressed  together,  “  My  liege,  the  obligations 
I  am  under  to  you,  and  the  love  I  bear  you,  constrain  me  more 
than  the  fear  of  death.  You  are  possessed  with  so  false  a  preju¬ 
dice  against  me  that,  to  undeceive  you,  I  am  resolved  to  tell  you 
what  no  torments  could  extort  from  me.  The  only  favour  1  ask 
of  you,  my  liege,  is  that  you  will  swear,  on  the  faith  of  a  prince 
and  a  Christian,  never  to  reveal  the  secret  which  you  force  from 
me.”  The  duke  promised  him,  with  all  the  oaths  he  could  think 
of,  never  to  tell  his  secret  to  anyone,  either  by  word,  act,  or 
signs  ;  and  the  gentleman,  relying  on  the  good  faith  of  a  prince 
wnom  he  knew,  put  the  first  hand  to  his  own  undoing,  saying  to 
him,  “  It  is  seven  years,  my  lord,  since  having  known  your  niece, 
the  Lady  du  Verger,  as  a  widow  and  disengaged,  I  tried  to 
acquire  her  good-will.  As  I  was  not  of  birth  to  marry  her,  I 
contented  myself  with  being  received  by  her  as  a  lover,  in  which 
1  succeeded.  Our  intercourse  has  been  conducted  hitherto  with 
so  much  prudence  that  no  one  has  come  to  the  knowledge  of  it 
except  you,  my  lord,  into  whose  hands  I  put  my  life  and  honour, 
entreating  you  to  keep  the  secret,  and  to  have  no  less  esteem  for 
my  lady  your  niece,  than  whom  l  do  not  think  there  is  under 
heaven  a  creature  more  perfect.” 

The  duke  was  delighted  with  this  declaration,  for  knowing  the 
extraordinary  beauty  of  his  niece,  he  doubted  not  that  she  was 
more  capable  of  pleasing  than  his  wife.  But  not  conceiving  it 
possible  that  such  a  mystery  should  have  been  carried  on  without 
adequate  means,  he  begged  to  know  how  her  lover  managed  to 
see  her.  The  gentleman  told  him  that  his  mistress’s  chamber 
opened  on  a  garden,  and  that  on  the  days  when  he  was  to  visit 
her  a  little  gate  was  left  open,  through  which  he  entered  on  foot, 
and  advanced  until  he  heard  the  barking  of  a  little  dog,  which 
the  lady  let  loose  in  the  garden  after  her  women  had  all  letired  ; 
that  then  he  went  to  her,  and  converged  with  her  all  night,  and 
on  his  departure  appointed  the  day  when  he  was  to  come  again, 
in  which  he  had  never  failed,  except  for  indispensable  reasons. 
The  duke,  who  was  the  most  curious  of  men,  and  who  had  been 
very  gallant  in  his  time,  begged  him,  as  well  to  dissipate  his  sus¬ 
picions  as  foi  the  pleasure  of  hearing  so  singular  an  adventure 


Novel  70.]  Seventh  Day .  369 

recounted,  to  take  him  with  him,  not  as  a  master,  but  as  a  com¬ 
panion,  the  next  time  he  went  thither.  The  gentleman,  having 
gone  so  far,  assented,  and  told  him  his  assignation  was  for  that 
very  day.  The  duke  was  as  glad  of  this  as  if  he  had  won  a 
kingdom,  and  feigning  to  retire  to  his  gar  derobe  to  rest,  had  two 
horses  brought,  one  for  the  gentleman  and  the  other  for  himself, 
and  they  travelled  all  night  from  Argilly,  where  the  duke  resided, 
to  Le  Verger,  where  they  left  their  horses  at  the  entrance  of  the 
pa^k. 

The  gentleman  made  the  duke  enter  through  the  little  gate, 
and  begged  him  to  place  himself  behind  a  large  walnut  tree, 
whence  he  might  see  if  what  he  had  told  him  was  true  or  not. 
They  had  not  been  long  in  the  garden  before  the  little  dog  began 
to  bark,  and  the  gentleman  walked  towards  the  tower,  whilst  the 
lady  advanced  to  meet  him.  Slue  saluted  him  with  an  embrace, 
and  told  him  it  seemed  a  thousand  years  since  she  had  seen  him. 
Then  they  entered  the  chamber,  the  door  of  which  they  locked. 
The  duke  having  seen  the  whole  of  this  mystery,  felt  more  satis¬ 
fied  ;  nor  had  he  time  to  grow  weary,  for  the  gentleman  told  the 
lady  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  her  sooner  than  usual,  because 
the  duke  was  going  to  the  chase  at  four  o’clock,  and  he  durst  not 
fail  to  attend  him.  The  lady,  who  preferred  honour  to  pleasure, 
did  not  attempt  to  hinder  him  from  doing  nis  duty  ;  for  what  she 
prized  most  in  their  honourable  intimacy  was  that  it  was  a  secret 
for  all  mankind.  - 

The  gentleman  quitted  the  house  at  one  o’clock  in  the  morning, 
and  his  lady,  in  mantle  and  kerchief,  escorted  him  not  so, far  as 
she  wished,  for  he  made  her  go  back  for  fear  she  should  meet  the 
duke,  with  whom  he  mounted  again  and  returned  to  the  chateau 
of  Argilly.  On  the  way,  the  duke  never  ceased  protesting  to  the 
gentleman  that  he  would  rather  die  than  ever  divulge  his  secret  ; 
and  his  confidence  in  him  was  so  confirmed  that  no  one  at 
court  stood  higher  in  favour.  The  duchess  was  enraged  at  this. 
The  duke  forbade  her  ever  to  mention  the  subject  any  more  to 
him,  saying  that  he  knew  the  truth,  and  was  satisfied,  for  the  lady 
whom  the  gentleman  loved  was  handsomer  than  herself.  These 
words  so  stung  the  heart  of  the  duchess  that  they  threw  her  into 
an  illness  worse  than  fever.  The  duke  tried  to  console  her,  but 
nothing  would  do  unless  he  would  tell  her  who  was  that  fair  lady 
who  was  so  devotedly  loved.  So  much  did  she  importune  him, 
that  at  last  he  quitted  the  chamber,  saying  to  her,  “  If  you  speak 
to  me  any  more  of  these  things,  we  will  part.”  This  made  her 
still  more  ill,  and  she  pretended  to  feel  her  infant  move;  whereat 

R  3 


370  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navan  e. 

the  duke  was  so  rejoiced  that  he  went  to  bed  to  her  ;  but  when 
she  saw  that  his  passion  for  her  was  at  the  height,  she  turned 
from  him,  saying,  “  Since  you  love  neither  wife  nor  child,  mon¬ 
sieur,  I  entreat  you  let  both  die.”  These  words  she  accompanied 
with  so  many  tears  and  cries,  that  the  duke  was  greatly  afraid  she 
would  miscarry  ;  wherefore,  taking  her  in  his  arms,  he  entreated 
her  to  tell  him  what  she  wanted,  protesting  he  had  nothing  that 
was  not  at  her  command.  “  Ah  !  monsieur,”  she  replied,  sobbing 
and  crying,  “what  hope  can  I  have  that  you  would  do  a  difficult 
thing  for  me,  since  you  will  not  do  the  easiest  and  most  reason¬ 
able  thing  in  the  world,  which  is  to  tell  me  the  name  of  the  mis¬ 
tress  of  the  worst  servant  you  ever  had  ?  I  thought  that  you  and 
I  had  but  one  heart,  one  soul,  and  one  flesh,  but  I  see  that  you 
regard  me  as  a  stranger,  since  you  conceal  your  secrets  from  me 
as  if  I  was  an  alien.  You  have  confided  to  me  many  important 
secrets,  and  have  never  known  that  I  divulged  a  tittle  of  them. 
You  have  had  such  proof  that  I  have  no  will  but  yours,  that  you 
ought  not  to  doubt  but  that  I  am  more  you  than  myself.  If  you 
have  sworn  never  to  tell  any  one  the  gentleman's  secret,  you  do 
not  violate  your  oath  in  telling  it  to  me,  for  I  neither  am  nor  can 
be  other  than  yourself.  I  have  you  in  my  heart ;  I  hold  you  be¬ 
tween  my  arms  ;  I  have  a  child  in  my  womb  in  whom  you  live  ; 
yet  I  cannot  have  your  love  as  you  have  mine.  The  more  faithful 
I  am  to  you,  the  more  cruel  and  austere  you  are  to  me.  This 
makes  me  long  a  thousand  times  for  the  day  when  a  sudden  death 
may  deliver  your  child  from  such  a  father,  and  me  from  such  a 
spouse.  I  hope  it  will  soon  come,  since  you  prefer  a  faithless 
servant  to  your  wife,  to  the  mother  of  a  child  which  is  your  own, 
and  which  is  on  the  point  of  perishing  because  you  will  not  tell 
me  what  I  have  the  greatest  longing  to  know.'* 

So  saying,  she  embraced  and  kissed  her  husband,  waterirg  his 
face  with  her  tears,  and  sobbing  and  crying  so  violently  that  the 
poor  prince,  fearing  he  should  lose  both  mother  and  child, 
resolved  to  tell  her  the  truth  ;  but  he  swore  that  if  ever  she  men¬ 
tioned  it  to  any  one  in  the  world  she  should  die  by  no  hand  but 
his  own.  She  accepted  the  condition  ;  and  then  the  poor  abused 
duke  told  her  all  he  had  seen  from  beginning  to  end.  She  pre¬ 
tended  to  be  satisfied,  but  in  her  heart  it  was  quite  otherwise. 
However,  as  she  was  afraid  of  the  duke,  she  dissembled  her 
passion  as  well  as  she  could. 

The  duke,  holding  his  court  on  a  great  feast  day,  had  called 
to  it  all  the  ladies  of  the  country,  his  niece  among  the  rest. 
After  the  banquet  the  dances  began,  and  every  one  did  his 


Novel  70.J  Seventh  Day .  371 

devoir  ;  but  the  duchess  was  too  much  vexed  by  the  sight  of  hei 
niece’s  beauty  and  grace  to  enjoy  herself,  or  hide  her  spleen. 
Making  all  the  ladies  sit  down,  she  turned  the  conversation  on 
love  ;  but  seing  that  Madame  du  Verger  said  not  a  word,  she 
said  to  her,  with  a  heart  rankling  with  jealousy,  “  And  you,  fair 
niece,  is  it  possible  that  your  beauty  is  without  a  lover?” 

“  Madam,”  replied  the  Lady  du  Verger,  “my  beauty  has  not 
yet  produced  that  effect  ;  for  since  my  husband’s  death  I  have 
had  no  lovers  but  his  children  ;  nor  do  I  desire  any  others.” 

“  Fair  niece,  fair  niece,”  rejoined  the  duchess,  with  execrable 
spite,  “  there  is  no  love  so  secret  as  not  to  be  known,  nor  any 
little  dog  so  well  trained  as  not  to  be  heard  to  bark.” 

I  leave  you  to  imagine  the  anguish  of  poor  Madame  du  Verger 
at  finding  that  an  affair  she  had  thought  so  secret  was  published 
to  her  shame.  The  thought  of  her  honour,  so  carefully  guarded, 
and  so  unhappily  lost,  was  torture  to  her  ;  but  the  worst  was  her 
fear  that  her  lover  had  broken  his  word  to  her,  which  she  did 
not  believe  he  could  ever  have  done  unless  he  loved  some  fairer 
lady,  and  in  doting  fondness  had  suffered  her  to  extort  the  secret 
from  him.  However,  she  had  so  much  self-command  that  she 
did  not  let  her  emotion  be  seen,  but  laughingly  replied  that  she 
did  not  understand  the  language  of  brutes.  But  her  heart  was 
so  wrung  with  grief  that  she  rose,  and.  passing  through  the 
duchess’s  chamber,  entered  a  garderobe  in  sight  of  the  duke,  who 
was  walking  about.  Thinking  herself  alone,  she  threw  herself 
on  a  bed.  A  demoiselle,  who  had  sat  down  beside  it  to  sle;  p, 
roused  herself  and  peeped  through  the  curtains  to  see  who  it 
might  be,  and  perceiving  it  was  the  duke’s  niece,  who  thought 
herself  alone,  she  durst  not  speak,  but  remained  as  still  as  possible 
to  listen,  whilst  the  poor  lady  in  a  dying  voice  thus  began  her 
lamentation  : 

“  Alas  !  what  have  I  heard  !  What  words  of  death  have 
smitten  my  ears  1  O  thou  who  was  loved  as  man  was  never 
loved  before,  is  this  the  reward  of  my  chaste  and  virtuous  love  ? 
O  my  heart !  hast  thou  made  so  dangerous  a  choice,  and  attached 
thyself  to  the  most  faithless,  artful,  and  mischievous-tongued  of 
all  men,  mistaking  him  for  the  most  faithful,  upright,  and  secret  ? 
Is  it  possible,  alas  !  that  a  thing  hidden  from  all  the  world  has 
been  revealed  to  the  duchess  ?  My  little  dog,  so  well  trained, 
sole  agent  of  my  long  and  virtuous  friendship,  it  was  not  you  that 
betrayed  my  secret  :  it  was  a  man,  with  a  voice  more  piercing 
than  a  dog’s,  and  a  heart  more  ungrateful  than  any  beast’s.  It 
was  he  who,  contrary  to  his  oath  and  his  word,  divulged  the 


2^2  The  Hepta meron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

•  happy  life  we  long  led  without  injuring  anyone.  O  my  friend  t 
for  whom  alone  my  heart  cherished  love,  a  love  wherewith  my 
life  has  been  preserved,  has  the  beauty  of  the  duchess  meta¬ 
morphosed  you,  as  that  of  Circe  did  her  lovers  ?  Has  she  turned 
you  from  virtue  to  vice,  from  good  to  bad,  from  a  man  into  a 
savage  beast  ?  O  my  friend  !  though  you  have  broken  your 
word  to  me,  I  will  keep  mine,  and  never  see  you  more  after 
having  revealed  our  intimacy.  But  as  I  cannot  live  without 
seeing  you,  I  willingly  yield  to  the  excess  of  my  sorrow,  and  will 
never  seek  any  remedy  for  it  either  from  reason  or  from  medicine. 
Death  alone  shall  end  it,  and  that  death  will  be  more  welcome  to 
me  than  to  remain  in  the  world  without  my  lover,  without  honour, 
and  without  contentment.  Neither  war  nor  death  has  taken  my 
lover  from  me  ;  my  sins  and  transgressions  have  not  deprived  me 
of  honour  ;  nor  has  my  bad  conduct  bereft  me  of  happiness.  It 
is  cruel  fortune  that  has  made  an  ingrate  of  the  most  favoured  of 
all  men,  and  has  brought  upon  me  the  contrary  of  what  I  deserved. 
O  duchess,  how  delighted  you  were  to  make  that  jeering  allusion 
to  my  little  dog  !  Revel  in  a  bliss  that  belongs  to  me  alone. 
Laugh  at  her  who  thought  to  escape  derision  whilst  loving, 
virtuously  and  concealing  it  with  care.  How  that  word  wrung 
my  heart !  How  it  made  me  red  with  shame  and  pale  with 
jealousy  !  Heart,  heart,  I  feel  thou  art  undone.  Ill-requited 
love  burns  thee,  jealousy  and  grief  turn  thee  to  ice,  and  forbid 
thee  all  consolation.  Through  having  too  much  adored  the 
creature,  my  soul  has  forgotten  the  Creator.  It  must  return  to 
Him  from  whom  a  vain  love  detached  it.  Be  assured,  my  soul, 
thou ‘wilt  find  a  Father  more  tender  than  the  friend  for  whom 
thou  hast  often  forgotten  Him.  O  God,  my  creator,  who  art  the 
true  and  perfect  love,  by  whose  grace  the  love  I  have  borne  my 
friend  has  been  sullied  by  no  vice,  save  that  of  loving  too  much, 
be  pleased  to  receive  in  the  greatness  of  Thy  mercy  the  soul  and 
spirit  of  her  who  repents  of  having  broken  Thy  first  and  righteous 
command.  Through  the  merits  of  Him  whose  love  is  incompre¬ 
hensible,  forgive  the  fault  which  excess  of  love  made  me  commit, 
for  my  trust  is  in  Thee  alone.  Farewell,  my  friend,  whose  un- 
worthiness  of  that  name  breaks  my  heart.”  So  saying  she  fell 
backwards,  her  face  ghastly,  her  lips  blue,  and  her  extremities 
cold. 

At  the  same  moment  the  gentleman  she  loved  entered  the 
reception-room,  where  the  duchess  was  dancing  with  the  other 
ladies.  He  looked  round  for  his  mistress,  and  not  seeing  her 
went  into  the  duchess’s  chamber,  where  he  found  the  duke,  who, 


Seventh  L\ 


Neovl  70  ] 


ay. 


373 


guessing-  his  purpose,  whispered  him  that  she  was  gone  into  the 
garderobe ,  and  appeared  to  be  unwell.  The  gentleman  asked  for  ‘ 
leave  to  follow  her,  and  the  duke  not  only  granted  it,  but  urged 
him  to  do  so.  Entering  1  he  gar  derobe  then,  he  found  her  at  the 
last  gasp  ;  and,  throwing  his  arms  around  her,  he  said,  “What 
is  this,  my  love  ?  Do  you  want  to  quit  me  ?  ”  Roused  by  the 
well-known  voice,  the  poor  lady  opened  her  eyes  to  look  upon  him 
who  was  the  cause  of  her  death  ;  but  that  look  so  increased  her 
love  and  anguish,  that  with  a  piteous  sigh  she  gave  up  the 
ghost. 

t  The  gentleman,  more  dead  than  alive,  asked  the  demoiselle 
how  the  lady’s  illness  had  begun,  and  she  told  him  all  she  had 
heard.  He  then  knew  that  the  duke  had  revealed  his  secret. 
His  grief  was  so  intense  that,  embracing  the  body  of  his  mistress, 
he  wept  over  it  long  in  silence,  and  at  last  exclaimed,  “  Traitor, 
villain,  wretch  that  I  am  !  Why  has  not  the  penalty  for  my 
treachery  fallen  on  me,  and  not  on  her  who  was  innocent  ?  Why 
did  not  Heaven’s  lightning  blast  me  the  day  my  tongue  revealed 
our  secret  and  virtuous  love?  Why  did  not  the  earth  open  to 
swallow  up  a  wretch  who  violated  his  faith  ?  May  my  tongue  be 
punished  as  was  that  of  the  wicked  rich  man  in  hell  !  O  heart, 
that  too  much  feared  death  and  exile,  may  eagles  tear  thee 
perpetually  as  they  did  that  of  Ixion  !#  Alas,  my  dear  friend  2 
in  thinking  to  hold  you  fast,  I  have  lost  you.  I  thought  to  possess 
you  long  alive,  with  virtue  and  pleasure,  and  I  embrace  you 
dead,  and  you  have  been  dissatisfied  to  your  last  gasp  with  me, 
my  heart,  and  my  tongue.  O  most  faithful  of  women  !  1  de¬ 
nounce  myself  as  the  most  inconstant,  faithless,  and  perfidious  of 
men.  I  would  I  could  complain  of  the  duke,  whose  word  I 
trusted,  hoping  by  that  means  to  prolong  our  agreeable  life  ;  but 
ought  I  not  to  have  known  that  no  one  could  keep  my  secret 
better  than  myself?  The  duke  was  more  justifiable  in  telling 
his  secret  to  his  wife  than  I  in  telling  mine  to  him.  I  am  the 
only  guilty  one,  the  only  one  who  deserves  to  be  punished  for 
the  greatest  crime  ever  committed  between  friends.  I  ought  to 
have  suffered  him  to  throw  me  into  the  river  as  he  threatened. 
You  at  least,  dear  one,  would  then  be  alive,  and  I  should  have 
closed  my  life  with  the  glory  of  having  observed  the  rule  pre¬ 
scribed  by  true  friendship  ;  but  having  broken  it,  I  live  still,  and 
you  are  dead  for  having  perfectly  loved.  Your  pure  heart  could 
not  know  the  baseness  of  mine,  and  live.  O  my  God,  why  didst 

*  The  p:>or  gentleman  had  but  a  confused  knowledge  of  Greek  fable,  ot 
grief  had  mudcT.ed  his  recollection  of  it. 


374  77/^  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

thou  create  me  with  a  love  so  frivolous  and  a  heart  so  ignorant/ 
Why  was  I  not  the  little  dog  that  faithfully  served  its  mistress  ? 
Alas  !  my  little  friend,  I  used  to  feel  joy  at  the  sound  of  yout 
barking  ;  but  that  joy  is  turned  into  sorrow,  for  having  been  the 
cause  of  another  besides  us  two  hearing  your  voice.  Yet,  sweet¬ 
heart,  neither  love  of  the  duchess  nor  of  any  other  woman  ever 
made  me  vary,  though  the  wicked  duchess  has  often  solicited  me 
to  love  her ;  but  ignorance  has  undone  me,  for  I  thought  by 
what  I  did  to  insure  our  intimacy  for  ever.  But  that  ignorance 
does  not  make  me  the  less  guilty.  1  have  revealed  my  mistress’s 
secret,  I  have  broken  my  word,  and  therefore  it  is  that  she  is 
dead  before  me.  Alas,  sweetheart,  will  death  be  less  cruel  to  me 
than  to  you,  who  have  died  only  for  having  loved  ?  Methinks 
death  would  not  deign  to  touch  my  faithless  and  miserable 
heart.  The  loss  of  honour,  and  the  memory  of  her  I  have  lost 
through  my  fault,  are  more  insupportable  to  me  than  ten  thousand 
deaths.  If  anyone  had  cut  short  your  days  through  mischance 
or  malice,  I  should  use  my  sword  to  avenge  you.  It  is  not 
reasonable,  then,  that  I  should  pardon  that  murderer,  who  has 
caused  your  death  by  a  deed  more  vile  than  if  he  had  killed  you 
with  a  sword.  If  I  knew  a  more  odious  executioner  than  myself, 
I  would  entreat  him  to  do  justice  upon  your  perfidious  lover.  O 
love  !  I  have  offended  thee  from  not  having  known  how  to  love  ; 
and  therefore  thou  wilt  not  succour  me  as  thou  hast  succoured 
her  who  perfectly  kept  all  thy  laws.  Nor  is  it  just  chat  I  should 
make  such  a  glorious  end  :  it  must  be  by  my  own  hand.  I 
have  washed  your  face  with  my  tears ;  I  have  implored  your 
pardon  ;  and  it  now  only  remains  that  my  arm  make  my  body 
like  yours,  and  send  my  soul  whither  yours  is  gone,  in  the 
assurance  that  a  virtuous  and  honourable  love  ends  neither  in 
this  world  nor  in  the  next.” 

Starting  up  then,  like  a  frantic  man,  from  the  corpse,  he  drew 
his  poniard,  and  stabbed  himself  to  the  heart ;  and  then,  clasping 
his  mistress  in  his  arms  for  the  second  time,  he  kissed  her  so 
fondly  that  he  seemed  more  like  a  blissful  lover  than  a  dead 
man.  The  demoiselle  seeing  the  deed,  ran  to  the  door  and 
screamed  for  help.  The  duke,  suspecting  the  disaster  of  those 
he  loved,  was  the  first  to  enter  the  garderobe ,  and  on  seeing  that 
sad  couple,  he  tried  to  separate  them,  in  order  to  save  the  gentle¬ 
man  if  it  were  possible  ;  but  he  held  his  mistress  so  fast  that  it 
was  impossible  to  tear  him  from  her  until  he  had  expired.  Never¬ 
theless,  hearing  the  duke  exclaim,  “  My  God  !  who  has  been  the 
cause  of  this  ?  ”  “  My  tongue  and  yours,  monsieur,”  he  replied, 


Seventh  Day. 


Novel  70.] 


375 


with  a  look  of  fury.  So  saying  he  breathed  his  last,  with  his 
face  laid  on  that  of  his  mistress. 

The  duke,  wishing  to  know  more  of  the  matter,  constrained 
the  demoiselle  to  tell  him  all  she  had  seen  and  heard,  which 
she  did  from  beginning  to  end,  without  forgetting  anything. 
The  duke  then,  knowing  that  he  was  the  cause  of  the  whole 
mischief,  threw  himself  on  the  bodies  of  the  two  lovers,  and 
with  cries  and  tears  implored  their  pardon.  He  kissed  them 
repeatedly  ;  and  then  rising  furiously,  he  drew  the  poniard  out 
of  the  gentleman’s  body.  As  a  wild  boar  wounded  by  a  spear 
runs  impetuously  at  him  who  has  struck  the  blow,  so  ran  the 
duke  at  her  who  had  wounded  him  to  the  soul.  He  found 
her  still  dancing  in  the  reception-room,  and  gayer  than  usual, 
because  she  thought  she  had  so  well  revenged  herself  on  the 
Lady  du  Verger.  Her  husband  seized  her  in  the  midst  of  the 
dance,  and  said,  “  You  took  the  secret  upon  your  life,  and  upon 
your  life  shall  fall  the  forfeiture.”  So  saying  he  grasped  her  by 
her  head  dress,  and  buried  the  pon»ard  in  her  bosom. 

The  astonished  company  thought  the  duke  was  out  of  his 
senses  ;  but  he  had  done  the  deed  advisedly  ;  and  assembling  all 
his  servants  on  the  spot,  he  recounted  to  them  the  glorious  and 
melancholy  story  of  his  niece,  and  the  wicked  conduct  of  his 
wife  :  a  narrative  which  drew  tears  from  all  his  hearers.  The 
duke  then  ordered  that  his  wife  should  be  buried  in  an  abbey 
which  he  founded,  partly  with  a  view  to  atone  for  the  sin  he  had 
committed  in  killing  his  wife  ;  and  then  he  had  a  magnificent 
tomb  erected,  in  which  the  remains  of  his  niece  and  of  the 
gentleman  were  laid  side  by  side,  with  an  epitaph  setting  forth 
their  tragic  history.  '  The  duke  made  an  expedition  against  the 
Turks,  in  which  God  so  favoured  him  that  he  achieved  glory  and 
profit.  Finding  on  his  return  that  his  eldest  son  was  of  age  to 
govern,  he  became  a  monk,  and  retired  to  the  abbey  in  which  his 
wife  and  the  two  lovers  were  buried,  and  there  he  passed  his  old 
age  happily  with  God.* 


This,  ladies,  is  the  story  you  begged  me  to  relate,  and  which, 
your  eyes  tell  me,  you  have  not  heard  without  compassion.  It 

*  “  It  is  probable  that  the  Queen  of  Navarre  has  contented  herself  with 
turning  into  prose  an  old  fabliau  entitled  La  Chatelaine  de  Vergy,  which  is 
found  in  the  fourth  volume  of  the  Recueil  de  Barbasan,  and  in  Legrand 
d’Aussy’s  third  volume.  Margaret  has  hardly  concealed  the  fact  that  she 
borrowed  this  novel,  since  she  says  in  the  prologue  that  it  was  written  in  such 
old  language  that  none  of  the  company  could  understand  it  except  herself  and 


376  The  Heptaineron  oj  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

seems  to  me  an  example  from  which  you  should  profit,  so  as  to 
beware  of  fixing  your  affections  on  men.  However  honourable 
and  virtuous  be  that  affection,  it  always  ends  badly.  You  see 
even  that  St.  Paul  would  not  have  married  people  love  to  such 
excess  ;  for  the  more  one  is  attached  to  earthly  the  more  one  is 
detached  from  heavenly  things  ;  and  the  more  honourable  and 
virtuous  love  is,  the  harder  is  it  to  break  its  bonds.  This  con¬ 
strains  me  to  heg,  ladies,  that  you  will  continually  pray  to  God 
for  His  Holy  Spirit,  which  will  so  inflame  your  hearts  with  the 
love  cf  God  that  at  the  hour  of  death  it  will  not  be  hard  for  you 
to  quit  the  things  of  the  world,  which  you  have  too  much  at¬ 
tachment. 

“The  love  of  these  two  persons  being  so  virtuous  as  you  re¬ 
present  it,”  said  Hircan,  “  what  need  was  there  to  make  a  secret 
of  it?” 

“  Because,”  said  Parlamente,  “  men  are  so  depraved  that  they 
can  never  believe  that  love  and  virtue. go  hand  in  hand.  They 
judge  of  the  virtue  of  men  and  women  according  to  their  own 
passions,  and  consequently,  if  a  woman  has  a  dear  friend  other 
than  one  of  her  near  relations,  it  is  necessary  for  her  to  converse 
with  him  in  secret  if  she  would  converse  with  him  long.  Whether 
a  woman  loves  virtuously  or  viciously,  her  honour  is  alike 
doubted,  because  men  judge  only  from  appearances.” 

“But,”  said  Geburon,  “when  the  secret  gets  vent,  the  woman 
is  so  much  the  worse  thought  of.” 

“That  is  true,  I  confess,”  said  Longarine  ;  “and  therefore  the 
best  course  is  not  to  love  at  all.”  * 

“We  appeal  from  that  sentence,”  said  Dagoucin  ;  “for  if  we 
believed  that  the  ladies  were  without  love,  we  would  rathe  be 
without  life.  I  speak  of  those  who  live  only  to  win  love  ;  and 
even  if  it  does  not  come  to  them,  the  hope  of  it  supports  them, 
and  makes  them  do  a  thousand  honourable  things,  until  old  age 
changes  that  fair  passion  into  other  pains.  But  if  we  thought 

Madame  Oisille.  The  story  of  the  Chatelaine  de  Vergy  has  also  been  told  by 
Bandello  (Part  IV.,  Novel  V.),  and  after  him  by  Belleforest,  in  his  Histoires 
Tragiqv.es.  It  might  be  supposed  that  Margaret  merely  borrowed  from  Barn 
dello,  for  it  is  he  who  lays  the  scene  in  Burgundy,  at  the  period  when  that 
province  was  ruled  by  a  duke.  It  is  to  be  remarked,  however,  that  at  the  end 
of  the  last  epilogue  of  the  seventh  day  Margaret  says  that  the  company  talked 
at  supper  of  nothing  but  Madame  du  Verger ,  an  evident  alteration  of  La 
Chatelaine  de  Vergy,  the  name  given  to  the  heroine  in  the  fabliau,  whilst 
Bandello  calls  her  quite  differently.  Moreover,  the  Italian  writer  terminates 
the  tragic  story  in  a  different  manner.” — Bibliophiles  Francais. 


Novel  70.]  Seventh  Day,  377 

that  the  ladies  did  not  love,  instead  of  foliowing  the  profession 
of  arms  we  should  have  to  turn  merchants,  and  instead  of  win¬ 
ning  glory,  to  think  only  of  amassing  wealth.” 

“You  mean  to  say,  then,”  said  Hircan,  “that  if  there  were  no 
ladies  we  should  be  all  caitiffs,  as  if  we  had  no  spirit  but  what 
they  inspire  us  with.  I  am  of  the  contrary  opinion ;  and  I  assert 
that  nothing  is  more  lowering  to  the  spirit  of  a  man  than  de¬ 
voting  himself  too  much  to  the  society  of  women,  and  loving 
them  to  excess.  It  was  for  that  very  reason  that  the  Hebrews  pro¬ 
hibited  a  man  from  going  to  war  the  year  he  was  married,  lest 
the  love  of  his  wife  should  make  him  recoil  from  the  dangers  he 
ought  to  seek.” 

“  I  do  not  think  there  was  much  sense  in  that  law,”  said 
Saffredent,  “  for  there  is  nothing  that  makes  a  man  readier  to 
leave  home  than  being  married,  the  reason  being,  that  no  war 
without  is  more  intolerable  than  that  within.  I  am  convinced 
that  to  give  men  a  taste  for  going  into  foreign  parts,  and  not 
loitering  by  their  own  firesides,  nothing  more  need  be  done  than 
to  marry  them.” 

“  It  is  true,”  said  Ennasuite,  “that  marriage  exonerates  them 
from  care  for  the  house  ;  for  that  they  commit  to  their  wives,  and 
think  only  of  acquiring  glory,  relying  on  it  that  their  wives  will 
attend  sufficiently  to  their  interest.” 

“  Be  it  how  it  may,”  said  Saffredent,  “  I  am  very  happy  that 
you  are  of  my  opinion.” 

“But,”  observed  Parlamente,  “you  do  not  discuss  the  most 
remarkable  point — namely,  why  the  gentleman  who  was  the  cause 
of  all  the  mischief  did  not  die  of  grief  as  promptly  as  his  mistress, 
who  was  innocent.” 

“  That  was  because  women  love  better  than  men,”  said 
Nomerfide. 

“  Rather,”  replied  Simontault,  “because  the  jealousy  of  women 
and  the  violence  of  their  passion  make  them  give  up  the  ghost 
without  knowing  why,  whilst  men,  with  more  prudence,  desire  to 
be  informed  of  the  truth.  Once  they  have  ascertained  it,  their 
good  sense  makes  them  show  the  greatness  of  their  spirit.  Thus 
it  was  with  the  gentleman,  who,  as  soon  as  he  knew  that  he  was 
the  cause  of  his  mistress’s  death,  manifested  the  greatness  of  his 
love  for  her  at  the  cost  of  his  life.” 

“  Nevertheless,”  said  Ennasuite,  “the  fidelity  of  her  love  was 
the  cause  of  her  death  ;  for  her  heart  was  so  constant  and  so 
true,  that  she  could  not  bear  to  be  so  villanously  deceived.” 

Her  jealousy  hindered  her  reason  from  acting,”  returned 


J7»  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre. 

Simontault ;  “and  as  she  believed  the  evil  of  which  her  lover 
was  not  guilty,  her  death  was  not  voluntary,  for  she  could  not 
help  dying ;  but  her  lover  owned  he  had  done  wrong,  and  died 
voluntarily.” 

“  Be  it  as  you  please,”  said  Nornerfide  ;  “but  at  all  events  the 
love  must  be  great  that  causes  such  mortal  sorrow.” 

“  Don’t  be  afraid,”  said  Hircan  ;  “you  will  not  die  of  such  a 
fever.” 

“No  more  than  you  will  kilt  yourself  on  being  conscious  of 
having  done  wrong,”  she  retorted. 

Parlamente,  who  did  not  know  but  that  the  dispute  was  at  her 
expense,  said,  laughing.  “  It  is  enough  that  two  died  for  love, 
without  two  others  fighting  for  the  same  cause.  There  is  the 
last  vesper-bell  to  separate  you,  whether  you  like  or  not.” 

At  these  words  the  company  rose  to  hear  vespers.  They  did 
not  forget  in  their  prayers  the  souls  of  the  true  lovers,  for  whom 
the  monks  willingly  said  a  De profundis .  During  supper  nothing 
was  talked  of  but  Madame  du  Verger.  After  amusing  themselves 
a  little  together  they  retired  to  their  respective  chambers,  and  so 
ended  the  seventh  day. 


EIGHTH  DAY. 

Hjc.  morning  being  come,  they  inquired  how  their  bridge 
was  getting  on,  and  found  that  it  might  be  completed 
in  two  or  three  days.  This  was  not  welcome  news 
for  some  of  the  company,  who  would  have  been  glad 
if  the  work  had  lasted  longer,  in  order  to  protract  the  pleasure 
they  enjoyed  from  so  agreeable  a  mode  of  life.  Seeing,  then, 
that  they  had  not  more  than  two  or  three  days  left,  they  resolved 
to  employ  them  well,  and  begged  Madame  Oisille  to  give  them 
spiritual  piovender  as  was  her  wont.  This  she  did,  but  detained 
them  longer  than  usual,  because  she  wished  to  finish  the  chro¬ 
nicle  of  St.  John  ;  and  so  well  did  she  acquit  herself  of  the  task, 
that  it  seemed  that  the  Holy  Spirit,  full  of  love  and  sweetness, 
spoke  by  her  mouth.  Warmed  by  that  sacred  fire  they  went  to 
hear  high  mass.  After  dinner  they  talked  of  the  past  day,  and 
doubted  if  the  present  one  would  be  so  well  filled.  They  retired 
to  their  several  chambers  for  reflection,  until  it  was  time  to  go 


Novel  71.]  Eighth  Day .  379 

to  the  meeting  place,  where  they  found  the  monks  already 
stationed.  When  they  were  all  seated,  the  question  was  asked 
who  should  begin.  “  As  you  have  done  me  the  honour,”  said 
Saffredent,  “  to  make  me  begin  two  days,  methinks  it  would  be 
unjust  to  the  ladies  if  any  of  them  did  not  also  begin  two.” 

“  In  that  case,”  said  Oisille,  “  we  must  either  remain  here  a 
long  while,  or  one  of  us  ladies,  or  one  of  you  gentlemen,  would 
have  to  go  without  his  or  her  day.” 

“For  my  part,”  said  Dagoucin,  “had  I  been  chosen,  I  would 
have  ceded  my  place  to  Saffredent.” 

“And  I  mine  to  Parlamente,”  said  Nomerfide;  “for  I  am  so 
accustomed  to  serve  that  I  know  not  how  to  command.” 

The  company  agreed  to  this,  and  Parlamente  began  thus  : 
“Such  good  and  wise  tales  have  been  told  on  the  past  days, 
ladies,  that  I  should  recommend  our  employing  this  one  in  re¬ 
lating  the  greatest  follies  we  can  think  of,  the  same  being  really 
true.  To  set  you  going,  then,  I  will  begin  in  that  way.” 


NOVEL  LXXI. 

A  woman  at  the  point  of  death  flew  into  such  a  violent  passion  at  seeing  her 
husband  kiss  her  servant  that  she  recovered. 

HERE  was  at  Amboise  a  saddler  named  Brimbaudier, 
who  worked  for  the  Queen  of  Navarre.  It  was 

enough  to  see  the  man’s  red  nose  to  be  assured  that 

he  was  more  a  servant  to  Bacchus  than  to  Diana.  He 
had  married  a  worthy  woman,  with  whom  he  was  very  well 
satisfied,  and  who  managed  his  children  and  his  household  with 
great  discretion.  One  day  he  was  told  that  his  good  wife  was 
very  ill,  at  which  he  was  greatly  afflicted.  He  went  home  with 

speed,  and  found  her  so  far  gone  that  she  had  more  need  of  a 

confessor  than  of  a  doctor,  whereat  he  made  the  most  doleful 
lamentations  that  ever  were  heard  ;  but  to  report  them  properly 
one  ought  to  speak  thick  like  him  ;  but  it  would  be  better  still 
to  paint  one’s  face.  After  he  had  rendered  her  all  the  good 
offices  he  could,  she  asked  for  the  cross,  which  was  brought  her. 
The  good  man,  seeing  this,  threw  himself  on  a  bed  howling  and 
crying,  and  ejaculating,  with  his  thick  tongue,  “  O  Lord,  I  am 
losing  my  poor  wife.  Was  there  ever  such  a  misfortune  ?  What 
shall  I  do  ?  ”  and  so  forth.  At  last,  there  being  no  one  in  the 
room  but  a  young  servant,  rather  a  good-looking  girl,  he  called 


380  The  Heftameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

her  to  him  in  a  faint  voice,  and  said,  “  I  am  dying-,  my  dear,  arm 
worse  than  if  I  was  dead  all  out,  to  see  your  mistress  dying.  I 
know  not  what  to  say  or  do,  only  that  I  look  for  help  to  you, 
and  beg  you  to  take  care  of  my  house  and  my  children.  Take 
the  keys  that  hang  at  my  side  ;  do  everything  in  the  house  for 
the  best,  for  I  am  not  in  a  condition  to  attend  to  such  things. ” 

The  poor  girl  pitied  and  tried  to  comfort  him,  begging  him 
not  to  be  so  cast  down,  lest  besides  losing  her  mistress  she 
should  lose  her  good  master  also.  “  It  can’t  be,  my  dear,”  said 
he,  “  for  I  am  dying.  See  how  cold  my  face  is  ;  put  your  cheeks 
to  mine  to  warm  them.”  As  she  did  so  he  put  his  hand  on  her 
bosom,  whereat  she  offered  to  make  some  difficulty,  but  he 
begged  her  not  to  be  alarmed,  for  they  must  by  all  means  see 
each  other  more  closely.  Thereupon  he  laid  hold  of  her,  and 
threw  her  on  the  bed.  His  wife,  who  was  left  alone  with  the 
cross  and  the  holy  water,  and  who  had  not  spoken  for  two  days, 
began  to  cry  out,  as  well  as  her  feeble  voice  enabled  her,  “  Ah  1 
ah  !  ah  !  I  am  not  dead  yet ! And  threatening  them  with 
her  hand,  she  repeated,  “  Wicked  wretches,  I  am  not  dead 
yet  !  ” 

The  husband  and  the  servant  jumped  up  instantly,  but  the 
sick  woman  was  so  enraged  with  them  that  her  anger  consumed 
the  catarrhal  humour  that  hindered  her  from  speaking,  so  that 
she  poured  out  upon  them  all  the  abuse  she  could  think  of.  From 
that  moment  she  began  to  mend  ;  but  her  husband  had  often  to 
endure  her  reproaches  for  the  little  love  he  had  shown  for  her.* 

You  see,  ladies,  how  hypocritical  men  are,  and  how  little  is 
needed  to  console  them  for  the  loss  of  their  wives. 

“  How  do  you  know,”  said  Hircan,  “  but  he  had  heard  it  was 
the  best  remedy  for  his  wife’s  case  ?  Not  being  able  to  cure  her 
by  his  care  and  kind  offices,  he  wished  to  try  if  the  contrary 
would  not  produce  the  desired  effect.  The  experiment  was  a 
happy  one;  and  I  am  astonished  that,  being  a  woman  as  you  are, 
you  have  so  frankly  portrayed  the  spirit  of  your  sex,  who  do  for 
spite  what  they  cannot  be  brought  to  do  by  kindness.” 

“  Unquestionably,  such  provocation  as  that,”  said  Longarine, 
“would  make  me  rise  not  only  from  my  bed  but  from  my 
grave.” 

“  What  harm  did  he  do  her  in  consoling  himself,  since  he 
thought  she  was  dead  ?  ”  said  Saffredent.  “  Do  we  not  know 

*  This  novel  has  been  imitated  by  Noel  du  Fail  de  la  H&issaye  in  hi* 
Contes  d'Eutrapel,  ch.  r. 


Novel  72.]  •  Eighth  Day.  381 

that  marriage  binds  only  as  long  as  life  last,  and  that  death  gives 
a  man  back  his  liberty  ?  ” 

“  Death  releases  a  man  from  the  obligation  of  his  oath,”  said 
Oisille  ;  “but  a  good  heart  never  thinks  itself  dispensed  from 
the  obligation  of  loving.  It  was  making  great  haste  to  console 
himself  not  to  be  able  to  wait  until  his  wife  had  expired.” 

“  What  seems  strangest  to  me,”  said  Nomerfide,  “  is  that  hav¬ 
ing  death  and  the  cross  before  his  eyes,  those  two  objects  were 
not  capable  of  hindering  him  from  offending  God.” 

“  That  is  a  fine  idea,”  said  Simontault.  “So,  then,  you  would 
not  be  shocked  at  a  naughty  thing,  providing  it  were  done  out  of 
sight  of  the  church  and  the  cemetery  ?  ” 

“  Make  game  of  me  as  much  as  you  will,”  replied  Nomerfide, 
“  but  by  your  leave  I  maintain  that  the  contemplation  of  death 
is  enough  to  chill  the  heart,  however  young  and  fiery  it  may  be.” 

“I  should  think  as  you  do,”  said  Dagoucin,  “had  I  not  heard 
to  the  contrary  from  a  princess.” 

“That  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  told  you  some  tale  to 
that  effect,”  said  Parlamente.  “Such  being  the  case,  let  us 
hear  it.” 

Dagoucin  began  thus. 


NOVEL  LXX1I. 

repentance  of  a  nun  who  had  lost  her  virginity  without  violence  and 

without  love. 

N  one  of  the  best  towns  of  France  after  Paris  there  was 
a  hospital  richly  endowed  —  that  is  to  say,  with  a 
prioress  and  fifteen  or  sixteen  nuns,  and  a  prior  with 
seven  or  eight  monks,  who  lived  opposite  in  another 
building.  The  latter  performed  service  every  day,  and  the  nuns 
contented  themselves  with  saying  their  paternosters  and  the 
hours  of  Our  Lady,  because  they  had  enough  to  do  in  attending 
the  sick.  One  day  there  died  a  poor  man,  about  whom  all  the 
nuns  were  assembled.  After  administering  all  the  remedies  for 
his  bodily  health,  they  sent  for  one  of  their  monks  to  confess 
him.  Then,  seeing  that  he  was  sinking,  they  gave  him  extreme 
unction,  and  shortly  afterwards  he  lost  his  speech.  But  as  he 
was  a  long  time  dying,  and  it  was  thought  he  could  still  hear, 
each  of  the  nuns  busied  herself  in  saying  to  him  the  best  things 
she  could.  This  continued  so  long  that  at  last  they  grew  tired, 
End,  as  it  was  night  and  late,  they  went  to  bed  one  after  the 


Continual 


382  The  Heptameron  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre . 

other.  One  of  the  youngest  alone  remained  to  lay  out  the  body, 
with  a  monk  of  whom  she  stood  in  more  awe  than  of  the 
prior  or  any  other,  on  account  of  his  great  austerity  both  in  life 
and  in  conversation.  After  these  two  had  shouted  three  hours 
loud  and  long  into  the  poor  man’s  ear,  they  were  sure  he  had 
breathed  his  last,  and  they  laid  him  out. 

Whilst  performing  this  last  act  of  charity,  the  monk  began  to 
talk  of  the  wretchedness  of  life  and  the  blessedness  of  death  ; 
and  half  the  night  was  spent  in  this  pious  discourse.  The  poor 
girl  listened  with  great  attention,  and  gazed  at  him  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  This  gave  him  so  much  pleasure  that,  whilst  speaking 
of  the  life  to  come,  he  began  to  embrace  her  as  if  he  would 
fain  have  carried  her  in  his  arms  straightway  to  Paradise  ;  she 
listening  to  him  always  with  the  same  rapt  spirit,  and  not  ven¬ 
turing  to  gainsay  one  whom  she  believed  to  be  the  most  devout 
man  in  the  convent.  The  wicked  monk  seeing  this,  and  talking 
always  of  God,  accomplished  the  work  which  the  devil  had  sud¬ 
denly  put  in  their  hearts  (for  previously  there  had  been  no 
question  of  this),  assuring  her  that  a  secret  sin  met  with  impunity 
before  God  ;  that  two  persons  who  have  no  ties  cannot  sin  in 
that  way,  provided  no  scandal  comes  of  it,  and  to  avoid  any  she 
was  to  be  careful  not  to  confess  to  anyone  but  himself. 

They  separated  at  last,  and  as  she  passed  through  a  chapel 
dedicated  to  Our  Lady,  she  wished  to  offer  her  orison  as  usual  ; 
but  when  she  came  to  utter  the  words  Virgin  Mary,  she  recol¬ 
lected  that  she  had  lost  her  virginity  without  violence  and  with¬ 
out  love,  but  through  a  stupid  fear,  and  she  burst  into  such  a 
violent  fit  of  tears  that  it  seemed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
The  monk,  who  heard  her  sobs  from  a  distance,  suspected  her 
conversion,  and  was  afraid  he  should  not  again  enjoy  the  same 
pleasure.  To  prevent  that  untoward  contingency,  he  went  up  to 
her  as  she  lay  prostrate  before  the  image,  reproved  her  sharply, 
and  told  her  if  her  conscience  reproached  her  at  all,  she  might 
confess  to  him  and  not  repeat  the  act  if  she  did  not  think  proper, 
for  she  was  free  either  to  do  it  or  not  without  sin.  The  silly 
nun,  thinking  to  expiate  her  sin,  confessed  to  the  monk,  and  all 
the  penance  he  imposed  on  her  was  to  swear  that  it  was  no 
sin  in  her  to  love,  and  that  some  holy  water  would  be  sufficient 
to  wash  out  so  trifling  a  peccadillo. 

She  believed  him'  rather  than  God,  and  relapsed  some  time 
after.  Finally  she  became  pregnant,  and  her  remorse  was  so 
great  that  she  entreated  the  prioress  to  have  that  monk  expelled, 
for  she  knew  he  was  so  crafty  that  he  would  not  fa:'l  to  seduce 


Novel  72.]  Eighth  Day.  383 

her.  The  prioress  and  the  prior,  who  agreed  together,  treated 
her  with  contempt,  and  told  her  she  was  big  enough  to  defend 
herself  against  a  man,  and  that  he  of  whom  she  spoke  was  a 
most  excellent  man.  Urged  at  last  by  her  remorse,  she  earnestly 
implored  their  leave  to  go  to  Rome,  where  she  believed  she 
should  recover  her  virginity  by  confessing  her  sin  at  the  Pope’s 
feet.  The  prior  and  the  prioress  very  willingly  granted  her 
request,  liking  better  she  should  be  a  pilgrim  contrary  to  the 
rule  of  her  order  than  cloistered  with  the  scruples  she  had. 
Fearing,  too,  lest  in  a  fit  of  despair  she  should  reveal  the  sort  of 
life  that  was  led  there,  they  gave  her  money  for  her  journey. 

Now  God  so  ordered  it  that  the  nun  arrived  in  Lyon  at  the 
time  when  the  Duchess  of  Alengon,  who  was  afterwards  Queen 
of  Navarre,  was  secretly  performing  a  novaine  in  the  church  of 
St.  John  with  some  of  her  women.  One  evening  after  vespers, 
when  that  princess  was  kneeling  before  the  crucifix,  she  heard 
some  one  going  up  the  steps,  and  perceiving  by  the  light  of  the 
lamp  that  it  was  a  nun,  the  duchess  withdrew  to  the  corner  of 
the  altar  to  hear  her  devotions.  The  nun,  thinking  herself  alone, 
knelt  down,  and,  beating  her  breast,  began  to  weep  most 
piteously,  crying  constantly,  “  Alas,  my  God  !  have  pity  on  this 
poor  sinner !  ”  The  duchess,  wishing  to  know  what  was  the 
matter,  went  up  to  her,  and  said,  “  What  is  the  matter,  my 
dear  ?  Whence  come  you,  and  who  brought  you  here  ?  ” 

The  poor  nun,  who  did  not  know  her,  replied,  “Alas,  my 
dear  !  my  misfortune  is  so  great  that  I  have  recourse  only  to 
God,  whom  1  beseech  with  all  my  heart  to  enable  me  to  speak  to 
Madame  d’AIengon.  for  I  can  relate  my  misfortune  to  no  one  but 
her,  being  assured  that  if  there  be  a  remedy  for  it  she  will  not 
fail  to  find  it.” 

“  My  dear,”  said  the  duchess,  “you  may  speak  to  me  as  you 
would  to  her,  for  I  am  a  very  great  friend  of  hers.” 

“  Pardon  me,”  said  the  nun;  “none  but  herself  shall  ever 
know  my  secret.” 

The  duchess  then  told  her  she  might  speak  out,  for  she  had 
found  the  person  she  wanted.  The  poor  woman  then  fell  at  her 
feet,  and  after  many  tears  and  cries  related  her  whole  story.  The 
duchess  consoled  her  so  well  that,  without  weakening  her 
repentance,  she  sent  her  back  to  the  priory  with  letters  to  the 
bishop  of  the  place,  ordering  him  to  have  that  scandalous  monk 
expelled. 

I  had  this  story  from  the  duchess  herself,  and  you  mav  se* 


384  71&?  Heptameron  oj  the  Queen  of  Navarre • 

from  it  that  Nomerfide’s  recipe  is  not  good  for  all  sorts  of  people, 
since  this  pair,  who  were  touching  and  laying  out  a  dead  body, 
were  not  the  more  chaste  for  all  that.* 

“Here  was  an  invention,”  said  Hircan,  “of  which  I  do  not 
suppose  anyone  ever  availed  himself  before :  to  talk  of  death 
and  perform  the  actions  of  life.” 

“  Sinning  is  not  an  action  of  life,”  observed  Oisille,  “  for  we 
know  that  sin  produces  death.” 

“Rely  upon  it,”  said  Saffredent,”  “those  poor  people  did 
not  think  of  that  point  of  theology.  But  as  Lot’s  daughters 
made  their  father  drunk  in  hopes  of  perpetuating  the  human 
race,  so  these  good  people  wished  to  repair  what  death  had 
spoiled,  and  to  make  a  new  body  to  replace  that  which  death 
had  taken  away.  So  I  see  no  harm  in  the  matter  except  the 
tears  of  the  poor  nun,  who  wept  without  ceasing,  and  always 
returned  to  the  cause  of  her  tears.” 

“1  have  known  many  like  her,”  said  Hircan,  “weeping  for 
the  sin,  and  at  the  same  time  laughing  over  the  pleasure.” 

“  I  believe  I  know  the  persons  to  whom  you  allude,”  said 
Parlamente.  “They  have  laughed  long  enough,  methinks,  to 
begin  to  cry.” 

Say  no  more,”  said  Hircan  ;  “  the  tragedy  which  began 
with  laughter  is  not  yet  ended.” 

“To  change  the  subject,  then,”  rejoined  Parlamente,  “it 
strikes  me  that  Dagoucin  has  not  complied  with  the  rule  we  laid 
down,  which  was  to  tell  only  laughable  tales,  whereas  his  is  too 
piteous.” 

“You  said,”  replied  Dagoucin,  “  that  we  should  relate  only 
follies,  and  it  seems  to  me  I  have  not  been  unsuccessful  in 
that  way.  But  that  we  may  hear  a  more  agreeable  one,  I  give 
my  voice  to  Nomerhde,  hoping  that  she  will  repair  my  fault.” 

“I  have  a  tale  ready,”  said  Nomerhde,”  “which  is  worthy 
to  follow  yours,  for  it  is  about  a  monk  and  a  dead  body. 
Hearken,  then,  if  you  please.”f 

*  This  novel  is  wanting  in  the  first  edition  of  the  Heptameron. 

f  “  Here  end  the  tales  and  novels  of  the  late  Queen  of  Navarre,  which  fa  ttU 
that  can  be  recovered  of  them." — Edition  of  1559,  by  Gruget. 


TH3  ENJX 


